Winter Comes
by Cambrian Beckett
Summary: Waking up tied to a Weirwood Tree with a Child of the Forest about to stab a dagger into your heart is never a good thing. What follows gives that experience a run for its money though. (Night King Self-Insert Fic)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: After writing so many power tripping fantasy Self Inserts, a couple of which were in Game of Thrones itself, this idea spoke to me for some reason. Probably just a one shot, but I've always been a fan of the "Out there" SI's. Probably why my first major story was self-inserting into Joffrey Baratheon.**

 **Edited 10/5/17: I removed the silly ROB scene in order to make this first chapter more readable.**

 **-x-X-x-**

I woke up with a start. I was not in my bed. My eyes snapped wide open and I immediately felt the cloth gag between my teeth as I pulled and strained against bindings at my wrists. Cold wind whipped across my naked chest and harsh bark scratches at my bared back. I looked around and found myself to be tied to a white, pale tree with red leaves.

My body was changed. But then, it probably wasn't MY body. Looking down at myself after eyeing the tree for a second, I found a muscled, broad shouldered form. Certainly not half bad to look at, and I was still close to my same skin color, if a few shades paler. That was nice enough I supposed, but as far as ways to wake up go, this was definitely in the bottom ten.

Glancing around a little further out, my eyes fell upon tall stones arrayed all around the tree I was bound to. They were certainly not natural judging by their shape and the fact that each had carvings in it. Definitely man-made. Or… not. I looked at the strange gathering of small forest creatures in wide eyed wonder as they gathered about in a circle and chittered to each other.

They definitely weren't human but I still felt like I should have known what they actually were. It wasn't coming to me though. The tree, the alien beings, both were familiar in some way. I didn't have much time to think about it in the end. After a moment, one of the leafy small nymph creatures stood from their circle and turned to me with a wide grin on her face and a sharp piece of rock in her small child-like hand.

I only had a moment to register that it was probably a female, before my mind then registered the weapon she was brandishing in my direction. Eyes going even wider, I struggled against my bonds.

"MMMPH! MMMMMPH!"

My heart beat faster and faster as she approached, but no matter what I did, I could not break free and she did not stop moving. One of her hands came to rest on my chest, holding me steady with fragile strength. The other brought the crude rock dagger forward and began to dig. I screamed in agony as pain I'd never felt before coursed through my body.

The forest nymph dug her weapon into my chest and pierced what I assumed was my heart. It was slow and brutal and agonizing. My life as a couch potato and an internet trawler had NOT prepared me for this kind of pain. But even with her dagger in my heart, I did not die. I felt cold though. I remembered reading a million descriptions of death. It was always cold before the end right? Perhaps then, I was dying anyways.

But… why? What was the point of self-inserting me into this man in this place and time if all he was going to do was die? For a frantic, horrified moment, I imagined an existence where that was all I did for the rest of eternity. Had I somehow pissed off a ROB and ultimately this was to be my fate from now on? To be self-inserted into characters about to die, over and over again, forced to experience each and every last death up close and personally. That was definitely a hellish punishment.

I knew not what I could have done to deserve such a thing. But even as I fretted about that being my new lot, I finally realized I wasn't actually dying. The big eyed forest nymph was staring at me with a wide grin across her face and I realized I was staring back. Looking down, I gasped in shock at the blue that was spreading out from the place where she'd stuck me with her crude, carved blade. Said blade or rock or whatever it truly was, had disappeared into my chest. Both of her palms were now pressed against my body as it turned blue.

It was a distinctive blue too, sort of like Dr. Manhattan from Watchmen. Still I couldn't really place this setting though, no matter how much I felt like I should know where I was. The deed done, the forest nymph stepped back and nodded to her fellows, who had risen from their little circle as well to watch my transformation.

More daggers came out and my bindings were cut. I fell forward onto my forearms, watching as they turned blue along with my hands. My nails grew sharp and my teeth did as well. My hair fell down in clumps beside me and I could feel protrusions pushing out of the top of my skull painfully. Reaching up, I grabbed the gag in my mouth and tore it away.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

I got to my feet and leapt for the nearest of the forest nymph creatures, a snarl on my lips and my hands outstretched. I was going to hurt them and I didn't know if I would stop short of killing or not. In the end, I didn't get a chance to find out. I never managed to lay a finger upon any of them as they lifted their hands as one and stopped me dead.

I fell back to my hands and knees under immense pressure, forced low to the ground. Slowly, the one who had originally stabbed me approached and knelt by my side. She reached out and grabbed me by one of the small horns that now ringed my head, causing a gasp of irritation to fall from my mouth. I stared into her yellow eyes and she looked back into mine that satisfied grin still on her face.

"You are strong. You will do nicely. You are the first of our Walkers, to drive back that which you came from. Your service will atone for the Weirwood trees that you have cut down. While we fight in the daylight, you will strike from the shadows once the sun has fallen. Where we live in the forests, you will never know warmth or happiness or joy ever again."

The wood nymph took in a deep breath before continuing in a serious tone filled with meaning.

"First of our Walkers, I dub thee Night King. You will use the great power that we have gifted you to serve us in darkness, so that we may live free and peacefully within the light of the sun."

I knew where I was now. I'd have to have lived under a rock in my original world not to. My eyes, a deep ethereal blue though I could not see them, stared back in horror at the Child of the Forest that held me up. Her grin grew ever so slightly and then she and the other Children raised their hands again. Darkness overtook me as my eyes slid shut.

My attempt to attack the Children of the Forest would be the last free action I took, for when I awoke I was completely and totally their creature. Dressed in rough approximations of 'armor' and given a spear, I was commanded to lead five more Walkers in an attack on the First Men. It was a fine showing of the new power I had at my fingertips.

In the end, trapped in my own mind, I spent the next two thousand years fighting for the Children of the Forest alongside a growing number of White Walkers who obeyed my every brainwashed command. And then when peace came and their weapon of war was no longer needed, I and those like me were sent North into the Land of Eternal Winter.

The Child's promise to me came true up in the frozen north. I slumbered in the darkness so that they could live in the light of sun, in peace with the men I'd once shared humanity with. In the Lands of Eternal Winter, I slept alongside an army that the Children of the Forest wished dearly to forget they'd ever made. With snowstorms all around me and cold suffusing my already frozen flesh, the bindings that the greenseers had placed on my mind and the minds of every other White Walker… slowly began to erode.

-x-X-x-

Two thousand years later, beneath a mountain of ice in a small cave, my eyes snapped open. I awoke and for the first time in four thousand years, I moved of my own free will, slowly but surely making my way to my feet. Standing, I looked down at my body, at my hands. I stared in mute silence at what I had become, accepting it as one must in these situations.

Around me, other White Walkers broke free of the coffins of ice they'd ended up within. There was no easy path out of the cave we found ourselves inside of. Better to call it a natural made tomb, as in the end it was with our bare blue hands that we clawed our way up towards the surface. There was purpose and determination in each and every one of us. None would remain trapped, none would remain forgotten.

When I broke through to the world above, there was no sunlight to smack down upon my face. Only biting winds and slashing snow was there to greet me as I crawled up out of the ground and stood tall. All across the plain of ice beside the white mountain that I had pulled myself from, more of my Walkers appeared. An army of blue skinned immortal monsters ripped themselves free of their prisons and moved to meet me.

I ended up standing slightly removed from an army, even the few that had clawed their way out at my side moving to stand with the rest below my feet, staring up at me expectantly. I looked out at a sea of glowing blue eyes and I thought. I knew where I was now, funnily enough. More than that, my mind was somehow intact. Whether by magic or because of whatever had sent me here, the only memories completely and utterly untouched by four thousand years of a life that could barely be called lived were the ones from before I'd arrived in this world.

As such, I was still me. But I was also more than that and though I did not recall it all, I remembered my transformation and I remembered snippets of the things that the Children of the Forest had had me and my kind do to the First Men. I was not outraged on behalf of the First Men. I was not even truly outraged on behalf of the army of White Walkers standing before me.

I was outraged on behalf of myself. I'd always been a narcissistic little prick. The Children of the Forest had wronged quite a lot of people, but I felt confident in saying they'd wronged me most of all. Was I not due justice? Was there not no other way to get revenge but by taking it with my cold, blue hands? I looked out upon a sea of souls bound to my own. The greenseer's magic had faded but mine had not. In order to conserve their power and keep their bindings on me strong, it had only been me, the Night King that had been under their control.

In turn, the rest of the White Walkers were under MY control and here in the eternally frozen lands, my control and power had never been stronger. Reaching out, I could FEEL the freezing weather around me. I could strengthen the snowstorm smacking against our unmoving bodies, or I could force it to abate. I chose the latter.

A moment later, for the first time in thousands of years, the cloud cover rolled back over a small portion of the Land of Eternal Winter. The snow stopped falling and the winds died down. A multitude of blue eyes looked up away from me at the sun. I did not begrudge them that, in fact I did the same for a moment. Still, I had not revealed the sun and quieted the eternal snowstorm to show them light.

I'd done it so that I could be heard. Bringing my hands up, I clap them together a single time. The sound rings out across the now silent ice plain and every White Walker looks to me. With their attention, I finally speak. There are a number of things on my mind right now, but only one stands out to me. I can't help but wonder if it's the same thing the original Night King would be thinking, if I was not here standing in his shoes.

"We go south. The Children of the Forest die to the last."

My voice was calm and controlled and not at all raised, but it still traveled to every ear, reached every White Walker on the plain below me. Convenient that. There were smiles on the faces of my army as all raised their hands, closed tightly into fists above their heads. They pumped once, twice, and then three times. I lifted my arms wide and breathed in the cold air as the snowstorm returned.

It did not harm us though, beings of cold and ice. Instead, it strengthened us and with my control over it, it moved with us as I began walking down the mountain, through the White Walkers and towards the south. They followed and we began our march.

I was the Night King and the Long Night had finally arrived. It was time to begin.

…

… The first large creature we came across was getting zombified immediately so that I could ride on its back. This walking bullshit was going to get really old, really fucking fast.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: And here we are with Chapter 2.**

 **-x-X-x-**

And just like that, the Long Night was over. Funny how fast time seemed to fly when you'd lived four thousand years, even if half that was spent in hibernation. The Long Night had been said to "last a generation" and in truth, that was how long we'd had. Twenty Five… Thirty years? Around there at least. It had only been three decades. It'd felt like a blink of an eye, though I was sure that for the Children of the Forest and the First Men, it felt like it lasted an eternity.

They would call it the War for the Dawn and in eight thousand years, their sacrifices and their battles and their victories would be decried as myth and legend. People would wonder if any of it was true, while their ancestors who had actually fought and died against us rotted away until nothing was left but dust in their crypts.

And I would still be here, ready to go again. That thought along brought a smile to my blue, monstrous face. My lips spread and my sharp teeth were bared as I grinned at the sight before me. It wasn't something anyone would ever get to see again. The Wall, being built right in front of me and my remaining White Walkers.

Sure, we were on the wrong side to truly enjoy the benefits of the structure and it was in essence meant to keep us out in the end, but I could still admire the beauty that was going into it's construction and the powerful magics that the Children of the Forest were infusing into it. Ah, the Children. Even now, thought of them drove me nearly mad with frothing rage. But I was getting better now. Rather than lose control of my incredibly short temper where those fucking wood nymphs were concerned, I simply spun on my heel, pulled a dagger of magical ice from my belt, and tossed it end over blade into the forehead of one of my few captives.

The life left dying Child's eyes and it fell back into the snow twitching, its arms bound behind its back as its legs spasmed this way and that. There was gasps of horror from the others of its kin that we had captured, as well as a muffled scream of shock and terror and interestingly enough rage from our… other guest. I ignored it all, trusting my remaining White Walkers to keep our prisoners under control. They were after all, powerless now.

Turning back, I continued to watch the Wall being built before my eyes, faster than one might think humanly possible. Oh sure, there was some construction to lay the foundations and what not. Brandon the Builder was doing his part. But the vast amount of ice that would make up the seven hundred foot monstrosity of a blockage was being gathered up by the last few Children of the Forest that me and my armies had not managed to slaughter or capture.

And believe you me, we tried to eradicate them all. The ones behind me were special cases, one in particular was VERY special indeed. But the rest? The Children of the Forest had died nearly to the last. As far as I was aware, the ones helping to construct the Wall were a fringe group of five or ten greenseers, more interested in living with humans then with their own kind.

We'd raised every community the Children of the Forest had had. The only ones left had to have been those few recluses. They wouldn't be able to save their race though. This was the day that the Children died. Cathartic, in a way. It certainly kept the smile on my face as I watched the barrier that would keep me and my kin here in the Land of Always Winter for the next eight thousand years go up.

They thought they'd forced us into a full retreat. They probably didn't imagine that we'd come back here, this close to our last 'greatest' defeat. In truth, I had had one final thing to do before I accepted that it was over. Now that thing was done and I was simply enjoying my last few moments this far south before heading back further north.

That bumbling fool they would one day call the Last Hero… he hadn't been much in the end. But he'd been a charismatic little shit and that was all the living truly needed to band together and defeat me. It'd be nice to be able to claim that I'd simply not been that inclined to end everything, and thus I'd allowed myself to be defeated and driven back.

Only partially true, that was. Ultimately, my ignominious retreat had come back for several reasons, not all of them my choice. Regardless of how menacing I and my White Walkers were, regardless of how powerful individually or together we were, and despite the army of the dead I was able to raise to assault the living… there was still dragonglass. Even now, Obsidian proved to be our biggest weakness.

Once the Children had let that slip to the First Men, our defeat was ensured. There were a lot more people living on Westeros in this time then I remembered from the show. They'd made good fodder at the start of the Long Night, but then when the rest of them started showing up armed with dragonglass daggers and dragonglass spears and dragonglass arrows. Well, it became fair. And when a fight is fair, between a living man and a walking corpse, the living man inevitably wins. They want it far more.

On top of that, the Children of the Forest had proved to be an utter nuisance with their magics, which once the Last Hero got involved, they were far too willing to share with the First Men. Magic was the great equalizer and it was something I would not have to deal with overly much in eight thousand years, beyond a trio of dragons and a few Lord of Light followers.

But here in the Age of Heroes? It was… a bit distressing to realize something about halfway through the Long Night. The White Walkers first push down from the North? It came in the MIDDLE of the Age of Heroes. We didn't bring about the end of an era, we were merely a footnote in the midst of one. After we were pushed back, the Age of Heroes would continue on and great men would do great things for centuries to come.

It was a bit irritating to be so… marginalized. If I'd been able to think beyond the all-encompassing rage against the Children of the Forest that had swallowed me whole from the moment I woke up, I very well might have said 'fuck it' and gone back to sleep for another two thousand years. But then who the fuck knows where the world would be at.

The one thing the Long Night was good for, or at least, the one thing MY Long Night undoubtedly accomplished, was the death of the Children of the Forest as a species. Best to cut them down now and then deal with the humans however I liked eight thousand years later when they were weak and hero-less.

And of course, the final reason that my defeat had ultimately been assured despite my foreknowledge. My own cowardice. It had kept me from committing. I stayed at the back, especially when the battles started including dragonglass. Even with all that I'd done, even with all the centuries I'd lived, if one could call it that, I was afraid. I did not wish to die, even now.

And so, my foreknowledge proved useless as my half-hearted attempts to kill important figures like Brandon Stark or the mysterious Last Hero failed on account of my assassins just not being good enough. Perhaps it was fate or destiny that those men survive, but I rather hoped that wasn't true. Because that very well might mean it was fate or destiny for me to lose eight thousand years from now when the canon began, even if the Night King's actual defeat hadn't been out by the time I was torn from my world and put here.

No, best not to think in terms of fate or destiny. I was the Night King. And though my White Walkers had been greatly diminished, numbering less than a hundred from the thousand or so that the Children had made for their wars, I wasn't worried. In eight millennia we would still be the most terrifying things in existence. And in the meantime… I was pretty sure I knew how to make more of us.

Speaking of which, a commotion distracted me from my inner thoughts and my quiet viewing of the growing Wall. Turning around, my glowing blue eyes looked upon the other prisoner that we had taken north with us. This one was not a wight, not a White Walker, and more certainly not a Child of the Forest. Stalking over to the human woman bound in rope and gagged with cloth, I stared into her beautiful blue eyes for a long moment of silence.

"MMMMPH!"

She screamed through her gag at me and glared daggers. The fire in this one's soul was amusing, but I kept the smile from my face as I reached out and tore the gag away to let her speak. She immediately began to do so, her mouth running a mile a minute. Not that anyone here would get that idiom.

"Unhand me! Unhand me at once! I am Lyanna Stark of House Stark! My brother is Brandon Stark, King in the North! He will come for me! He will kill you all like he killed so many of your stinking kind at the Fist of the First Men!"

Ah yes, the Fist, where Bran the Builder and the Last Hero had dealt us our 'final defeat', seemingly driving us into the Land of Always Winter forever more. It had been only a month ago that the battle had taken place. They'd worked fast to pull back and begin the construction of their great Wall to keep us out. But even after the battle at the Fist, I was far from done. There was one more thing I needed before I slinked back to the Land of Always Winter. And she was standing right in front of me.

"Don't waste your words woman. They don't understand you. They don't care to understand you either. The White Walkers are mindless, monstrous beasts who only understand cold, darkness, and death."

I turned to look at the Child of the Forest who had spoken so presumptively. Of course it was Leaf, the name of which I only knew because of the show. Leaf, the one who four thousand years before, had drove a sharp rock into my heart beneath the branches of a Weirwood, turning me into the very being I am today. She'd created me, which I assumed was why she presumed to have knowledge over my existence and that of my kin.

Lyanna (and wasn't that just hilarious. Did the Starks just recycle the same names for the next eight thousand years? Truly?) didn't seem so convinced as she furrowed her brow at the Child of the Forest.

"Then why are we their prisoners? Why do we still draw breath if they are mindless? Surely those that cannot be reasoned with would not take captives in the first place."

She had a wit about her too. I'd chosen well with my little grab. A smirk began to spread across my face, only to die when Leaf began to speak again.

"Who knows? This is certainly unusual, but don't let that fool you. They're unintelligent, the same as ravenous animals, hungry for their next meal. All they care about is destroying ever-Urk!"

My fingers closed around the short forest nymph's throat and I lifted Leaf off the ground. Her hands were bound before her, but her legs were free to kick and flail as her already large eyes bulged out of her unnaturally shaped skull. Slowly, I draw her close to my face, enjoying the terror in her dilating pupils as we get ever nearer to one another.

Then, and only then do I speak. They're the first words I've said the entire Long Night. Had to keep up appearances after all.

"You can fuck off bitch. Be silent, or I'll cut your tongue from your skull."

That shuts her up. All of the remaining Children of the Forest are staring now in stupefaction and bewilderment, mixed in with the fear and terror that was already there. I drop Leaf to the ground where she falls to her knees, coughing and hacking around the superficial damage I've done to her fragile throat. With that said, I turn back towards my distinctly human prisoner.

She's looking at me with new eyes and I can see what she's going to say before she says it. I allow the words to leave her delicious looking lips all the same.

"So you ARE intelligent. And you speak our tongue as well. Then why?! Why do all this? Why did you wage war on our peoples? Why did you desecrate and defile our dead? Why did you do ANY OF THIS?!"

Stepping closer to the Stark woman, I give her a smile. Even with all the fire in her heart, the wolf balks at my toothy grin. I think I might be frightening to look at or something.

"Revenge."

"Revenge?! What did we ever do to you?!"

Lyanna seems flummoxed by my answer. I shake my head and point to the bound Children.

"Not you. Them. You were just in the way, so much chaff for my army. The Children of the Forest were our true targets. My revenge was upon their people, not yours."

Not that we'd really given any thought to rolling over towns and villages and even whole cities of First Men in our pursuit of every last stinking Child we could locate. We'd needed to replenish the army of the dead after all. Lyanna looks shocked though at what I've said. Her mouth opens but no words come out as she looks between the Children and me. A glance tells me that the Children of the Forest are hanging their heads, one and all. Considering these were the ones there the day that Leaf turned me into the Night King, they have a lot to be ashamed for.

"What did they do to you? What was so bad that your revenge took this form?"

She sounded like she wanted to hear something she could rage against appropriately. Like she wanted it to be some small slight that would be meaningless in her eyes. I was happy to disappoint her.

"I was not naturally born as this creature, Lyanna Stark of House Stark. We, the White Walkers… none of us are naturally born. The Children of the Forest created us from YOUR ancestors. WE are of the First Men that fought for two THOUSAND years against the Children of the Forest. WE were taken and transformed and forced to do unspeakable things to our own flesh and blood, our kin, in THEIR name. And when the wars ended and the Children made peace with the First Men that came long after us? We were sent north, we were imprisoned in the ice and we were NEVER supposed to be seen by living eyes, ever again."

I pause, well aware that I'm ranting. Lyanna is staring at me in fresh horror and dare I say it, a small smidgen of pity. It amuses me just a little, that she would feel something for me given what I intend to do to her.

"That's… that's horrible."

I shrug my shoulders and spread my hands out as I agree with her.

"Yes, it is. But justice has been met. The Children are dying off. They will never recover. Our work is done and the Wall will be allowed to rise."

Not that we could have really stopped it, but it was always good to pretend you've got more of an advantage than you truly do. Of course, now Lyanna was just plain confused.

"B-But if that's all true, why take me? I am not a Child of the Forest. And my brother WILL search for me once he knows I'm gone."

I wave a hand dismissively, tilting my head to the side as I look at her with what I know to be quite the unnerving stare.

"He very well might. He may even realize WHO has taken you and lead an expedition beyond the Wall to search for you. He will be too late. We go further north then any living thing has ever gone. More than that, we go further north than any living thing could possibly survive. If he truly does go to such lengths to find you, he will die in the cold dark that we thrive in, never having laid eyes upon your person. He will make a strong wight for our new armies if that does turn out to be the case."

Lyanna shudders, more than likely because of the sheer malevolence in my voice. I'm not a good man, but then I'm also not a man at all. I'm a monster, I'm what the Children of the Forest as well as the Omnipotent being who sent me here have made me. I am the Night King. I'm also a little more than that though, hence Lyanna Stark's capture.

"If no living thing can survive where we're going, how am I to do so?"

Now she's asked the right question, or at least the question most pertinent to her situation and her future. I don't begrudge her this talk though, even if it has been the longest conversation I've had as the Night King since… ever? Probably ever actually. Huh, I'm fairly verbose when I'm in the company of a pretty woman, aren't I?

My face splits into a wicked grin as my clawed, blue hand snaps up and grasps Lyanna Stark's jaw. My claws dig into her cheeks and the blue of her eyes immediately begins to glow.

"You are not."

Her eyes widen in fright, but the process has already begun. This is the first time I've done this actually, but the instincts are all there within me. I'd always known I could, I'd just never had reason to do more than raise the dead as wights before now. Now though, I am doing FAR more than that. Lyanna Stark, sister of Bran the Builder, the first King in the North, begins to change before my eyes.

Her black hair turns white inch by inch and her pale skin begins to go blue. Her body, covered in the furs of one who would live in the North and brave it's chills, shakes and spasms in place as I hold her up by her jaw. I can hear exclamations of horror behind me, but the captured Children are impotent. There is nothing they can do to stop the crime against humanity that I am currently committing. And then, it's done.

I release the creature that had once been Lyanna Stark and gaze with satisfaction upon what I have wrought. Until this moment, every White Walker the Children had made was male. We looked monstrous, inhuman, and in many cases, decrepit, as the Children had used feeble old men when they could not capture strong, younger men like myself. All were equal beneath me once they'd become Walkers, their past as humans meaningless in the end.

Just as my new creation's would be. The first female White Walker raised her head and stared at me with piercing, ethereal blue eyes. She too was inhuman, but in a way that made her all the more beautiful. She was gorgeous in every way and I could feel my bond with her, the same as I had with every White Walker. Lifting up a hand, I beckoned her forward.

"Come, my Queen."

Once more I could feel the palpable horror of the Children behind me as the being that had once been Lyanna Stark approached. My lips split into a wide, sharp-toothed smile as she came within distance of my outstretched hand and stepped right past it. She leaned in close, as if to kiss me. Then, as I foolishly let my guard down, she abruptly reared back and slapped me hard across the face.

My eyes widened as I took the most damage from that one blow then I had taken from anything in four thousand years. White Walker on White Walker violence was nothing to laugh about, it felt like she'd loosened a tooth as I rubbed my face free of the lingering pain of her blow and worked my jaw around to make sure it wasn't dislocated by her new strength.

As I looked into the eyes of the woman I'd turned into a White Walker, I saw something unexpected. I saw Lyanna Stark, glaring back at me in anger. Her gaze flitted one last time to the Wall her brother was currently building to keep me… and now her out. A snarl of impotent rage left her lips and then the ethereal beauty spun on her heel and began to walk in the opposite direction of the massive barrier.

After a moment of watching her go (and oh how fun it was to do so), I shrugged my shoulders and nodded to my men before gesturing at the captive Children.

"Bring them. We've got time ahead of us. They'll make good sport for the next eight thousand years."

That more than anything seems to drive Leaf and her comrades into the depths of despair as our band trails after Lyanna Stark, deeper into the Land of Always Winter. There's really only one thought on my mind as we do so. It's probably not something that the true Night King ever had cross HIS mind. It's crass and not at all in fitting with the menacing, mysterious monster that I'm supposed to be portraying.

But it is MY thought, the real me. And I am glad to have it. As I stare at the backside of Lyanna Stark, the first female White Walker, only one thought runs through my mind, over and over again.

I'm going to fuck the hell out of that fiery little she-wolf. The hate sex is going to be GLORIOUS.

-x-X-x-


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: And here we are again~ It wouldn't be one of my Self-Inserts without a bit of self-sabotage. And a bit of a question for my readers. This is a hundred year timeskip from the end of the Long Night.**

 **How long do you think it might have taken for the Night's Watch to get to its... thirteenth commander? More than a hundred years at least, but close to two hundred? close to three hundred? less than two hundred? Let me know! I'm leaning towards making it two hundred years but I'm wondering how realistic that might be. 200 divided by 13 would be 15-ish years per Commander. In a world like Westeros, that might be too generous...**

 **-x-X-x-**

Long, sharp nails dug into my back hard enough to draw blood. Rivulets of purple ichor slipped free of my flesh even as I snarled and returned the favor by biting deeply into a shoulder. Lyanna Stark let out a cry at that, though it was not filled with negative emotion. Instead, she simply dug in all the harder and continued to drive her hips up into my thrusting cock, her legs wrapped around my waist.

The white haired female Walker stared at me with her glowing blue eyes, hate filling every fiber of her being. But beyond that hate was desire and lust, which I imagined was mirrored in my own gaze as we fucked in the snow. The cold did not bother ones such as us and neither did the winds. There was no need for furs or fire or even a roof over our heads.

We fucked like animals, rough and savage. Lyanna gave as good as she got, biting me back and raking her claws down my spine to my toned blue ass, shifting her legs down a bit so her hands could reach. Then she used her new found grip on my buttocks to force me into her deeper, my throbbing hard cock slamming home into her slick wet passage with great force.

We were both panting by this point, our breath coming out shortly as neither of us seemed willing to back down. This was how every fuck was with the wild dire wolf woman I'd turned into my Queen. This was how every encounter was with her as well, because every encounter was just another chance to fuck. Again and again I thrust into her and again and again her hips rose to meet me.

My hands were on either side of her head, but as we continued, I slid one down and grabbed hold of one of her breasts, giving the soft tit flesh a caress and then a harsh squeeze. All I got from her mouth was a grunt, but her lower lips told a different story, squeezing harder around my pistoning shaft as I played with her chest. My lips curl into a half-snarl, half-smile as I take my other hand to her opposite breast as well. Using her tits as handholds, I'm none gentler with them then she is with me.

Both of us are covered in bites and scratches from our hour's long play. Both of us are unwilling to back down even as we draw more blood while at the same time extracting mutual pleasure from one another. The vicious fucking ends as it always does. With my seed spilling into her womb and her cunt clenching down hard enough to hold me there, even as her legs do the same.

She cries out one last time, but it's more of a howl then a cry as I throw my head back and do the same. We shout our releases to the frozen land all around us, coming to a mutual climax despite there being no true bond between us, beyond the one I forced upon her when I technically bound her to my will. Her grip on me weakens, both her inner walls and her legs going slack as she lies back in the snow, her chest heaving. I slide from her and stand up, my cock already softening as we stare at each other in silence.

After a moment, Lyanna Stark simply snarls and stands, pulling on her clothing from where its strewn all around us and walking away with a slight limp in her step. I watch my 'Queen' go in silence for a brief second before moving to get dressed myself. It's not actually necessary, the clothing, but it's a holdover from both our lives, hers from before I turned her, and mine from before I became this monster I am now. The cold may not affect us… both we both keep our modesty regardless.

-x-X-x-

As Lyanna and I parted, I couldn't help a rueful smile spreading across my face.

A hundred years later, my Queen and I still weren't on speaking terms, despite partaking in certain physical activities together damn near every day. Hate sex is a hell of a drug though and there came a point where Lyanna realized that the Children of the Forest had been partially right. I was the only intelligent White Walker. Watching her leave was always a treat and I did so now, until she was fully out of sight, today's tryst over and done with.

My sentience and the loneliness of the frozen north didn't seem to stop the woman I'd chosen as my Queen from snubbing me at practically every turn, but it did seem to be where she drew the line when it came to fornication. That is to say, when she got the itch, she didn't go to my kin because they had nothing to offer her. I on the other hand, did. Still, our relationship was quite violent. Lyanna stretched the limits of the bond that kept her from truly doing me harm and I let her, actively enjoying the pain and disobedience and willfulness that practically nothing else in the Land of Always Winter showed me.

Oh sure, there were the great beasts that made the frozen land their home. Direwolves and shadowcats and snow bears were all foolish enough to attack me if they saw me, while giants would defend their territory if they felt it was infringed upon. I'd actually ended up riding a nice big hulking snow bear into battle during the Long Night, the first creature I'd come across on my way south from the mountain where I and my kin had awoken.

But it had died at the final battle of the War for the Dawn, laid low at the Fist of the First Men by obsidian tipped arrows. I'd run, not wishing for one of those to find my heart. I would always miss Snowy. But he lived on in spirit… after a fashion. Turning around, I stepped over to where Snowy 3.0 sat patiently waiting for me.

… Don't ask what happened to Snow 2.0. We don't talk about that.

Grunting, I slide myself up onto the massive undead snow bear's back and urge him onwards with my mind. We move in the opposite direction of Lyanna. She has her business to attend to, while I have mine. And today my business will be quite interesting indeed. A slow grin spreads across my inhuman face as I ride on towards my destination. This should be fun.

-x-X-x-

Rogund was petrified. How could he not be? No matter the strength of one's arm, none could stand against this foe and live. The stories told by the elders were clear. To face a White Walker was to face death itself. And yet, here Rogund stood, alive and well but surrounded by not one, but ten of the monstrous, mysterious creatures.

Well, stood was a bit of an exaggeration. He was on his knees, he just liked to pretend he wasn't and that those encircling him in silence were merely extremely tall. He'd like to have stood up and they may have even let him… but his legs were shaking beneath his frozen ass and Rogund knew that if he tried to rise to his feet, he would merely fall again. Best to kneel and await his death with some small measure of comfort and dignity.

At least they were inside. Rogund didn't know why they'd come for him here specifically, but it seemed pretty clear that they had. TEN White Walkers standing in his hut? The man had honestly thought it a nightmare at first. He still hoped it was, but as time went by and everything continued to feel incredibly real, including the biting pain of the cold barely held back by the wall surrounding them, Rogund knew this was no dream.

The door to his hut suddenly opened, utterly destroying his concentration. Rogund looked to the door, as did the ten silent monsters guarding him. It was another White Walker, but Rogund didn't have to be learned to see there was something different about this one. No hair for one, no white beard. This one was clean shaven and instead of hair atop his head, there were horns in a circle along his brow and around his entire head.

Rogund looked into this White Walkers eyes and saw something that scared him all the more as the creature stepped towards him and did something that no story had ever prepared the man for. The White Walker spoke.

"Greetings."

What was he to say to that?

"M-Mornin'."

Probably not that, but if anything the White Walker actually looked terrifyingly amused rather than upset or angry. Another step closer and Rogund was shivering with dread now.

"You know us, yes?"

This time, no words came. Rogund settled for sharply nodding his head up and down instead as the White Walker drew closer still. This seemed to satisfy the speaker, but then he asked another question.

"Do you know me?"

Rogund wished he could have said yes. Despite being a monster straight from an icy hell, the man felt like he could get a read on this White Walker, but only partially. He wasn't sure if the being before him WANTED to be recognized or not. But he knew the cost of being caught in a lie was more than likely not good for his health. So he jerkily shook his head from side to side.

"Ah. Perhaps that is a good thing. No… misconceptions. What is your name?"

This whole experience was far too surreal for Rogund. But he'd gotten this far. If the creature was making small talk with him, perhaps it was not intending to end his life? He just had to keep it happy and each second he did so was another one he got to keep breathing in the cold harsh air.

"R-Rogund… "

That seemed to please the White Walker, if the way his brow rose and his lips curled was any indication.

"Oh? Rogund? Very good Rogund, very good. I am the Night King. I command the White Walkers you see before you and dare I say it; I command every one that walks in the snows north of you. We are many… and while the Long Night has ended, the only thing that can stop us is the Wall that those in the North created to keep us out. But you're not behind the Wall, are you Rogund?"

The answer to that was clear and it was obvious this Night King wanted a response. Rogund frantically shook his head back and forth yet again, his breath coming out a little shorter as a not-so-nice smile spread across the White Walker's face.

"No, no you are not. But do not fret. I shall put you under my protection, so that the direwolves and shadowcats and snow bears do not kill you and consume your flesh."

Rogund wanted to say something about how he wasn't actually afraid of those beasts. But he was also smart enough to understand the underlying meaning behind the Night King's words. He knew what his response needed to be, despite being an uncultured savage. As one of the first Free Folk to build himself an actual home rather than live in a cave, Rogund had unknowingly drawn the attention of those currently surrounding him. He'd made himself stand out and as they say, the tallest blade of grass gets cut down first. Not that Rogund would have ever heard that saying.

"I-I t-thank you."

"I thank you, Your Grace."

A correction, obviously. Rogund didn't truly understand the meaning of the two words, but he knew how to parrot to save his hide.

"I-I thank you… y-your Grace."

"Well done. You may stand."

Oh dear. Rogund still wasn't sure he could. But the look on the Night King's face brooked no argument and so the man made the effort. Slowly but surely, he stood under the watchful glowing blue eyes of eleven White Walkers. He shook and shivered and shuddered, but he stayed on his feet thankfully. The Night King's smile grew another fraction and he reached out, grabbing hold of Rogund's shoulders. Rogund froze up, eyes wide as he believed this to be the moment he died. But his demise never came.

"Wonderful, wonderful. I knew you could do it Rogund. Now, we'll have to see about getting you a woman. Can't start a family without that now can you? Tell me, did you have your eye on one already? I see you made this hut big enough for more than one and I've watched you through the eyes of my wight as you stock up far more food than one man could ever eat before it goes bad."

The Night King continued to ramble on and on as he wrapped a frozen arm around Rogund's shoulders and began to guide the man around his hut, asking this and that. Rogund did his best to answer, but he was in a sort of stupefied shock over just how… WRONG the White Walker was compared to the stories.

Eventually, he simply couldn't take it anymore and stopped dead, causing the Night King to turn to him with a frown on his face. Regardless of the fact that that frown made him want to piss himself on the spot, Rogund asked the question he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"W-what do you want from me?! … Y-Your Grace."

He tacked on the last two words when the White Walker gave him a look. The Night King nodded approvingly and then paused for a second before answering him.

"What do I want from you? Your loyalty I suppose. The loyalty of your mate, whenever you finally take one. The loyalty of your children and their children and their children's children. Rogund, I want you to serve me faithfully, and in return I will make you a god among men. I offer you those you beget protection until the end of your line, but if your loyalty is pure, I offer one more thing as well."

"A-and what is that?"

The Night King's smile turns positively terrifying as he shows off rows of sharpened teeth and his glowing blue eyes seem to swirl with malevolent intent.

"For your faithful service, Rogund of nowhere, I offer you a chance at eternal life."

Rogund stared in silence for a long moment and then for the first time since all this had begun, his nearly frozen lips cracked open into a lopsided grin.

"W-Well that doesn't seem s-so bad?"

Rather than take offense, the Night King actually laughed, both startling Rogund and ultimately putting him just a little more at ease as the White Walker slapped his back hard enough to knock him forward a couple steps but not to the ground, thankfully.

"No! No I'm sure it really doesn't!"

As the Night King continued to laugh, Rogund nervously joined in even as he straightened up and moved to brush himself off. That's when he came face to face with the mangled face of an undead snow bear. The beast's glowing blue eyes gazed right into his own brown pupils and then the snow bear roared loudly. It was just too much for the poor man. Rogund screamed like a girl and then promptly fainted on the spot.

-x-X-x-

I stared down at the passed out form of what would hopefully be the first of many, MANY human followers. I was going for the long con here, but that didn't mean I sat on my laurels and waited eight thousand years. I wanted to subvert the Wildlings entirely, maybe even try to get a few of them through the Wall to act as my eyes and ears over the centuries and millennia to come.

Still… I look up into the face of my undead snow bear. The beast shouldn't have been able to do that without my say so and unless my subconscious is playing tricks on me, I didn't tell it to roar. Frowning severely, I give Snowy 3.0 a harsh glare. The undead beast doesn't even react. Fucking snow bears I swear to god…

Letting out a sigh, I gesture to two of my White Walkers. They carry Rogund back inside and tuck him in so the dumb bastard doesn't freeze to death. We'll leave for now and come back later to make sure he's on the path to that family I asked him about. Can't grow a cult without children to indoctrinate after all. A smile spread across my inhuman face at my own bit of dark humor. After making sure Rogund was properly put away, I hopped back on Snowy 3.0's back and we meandered away from the lone hut, nestled as it was among a copse of trees.

I found myself wondering after Lyanna. What was it she was doing right now? I could have looked if I wanted… but I didn't want to. Every other creature I was bonded to acted as my eyes and ears, but Lyanna was supposed to be different. She WAS different. I hadn't expected her to retain her free will when I turned her, but I'd still wanted her to have some agency as my Queen. I'd gotten more than I'd bargained for on that front, but I was happy with it.

Still, whatever could she be up to? There truly wasn't much to do in the Land of Always Winter.

-x-X-x-

Sending away the White Walker torturing the Child was always a chore for Lyanna Stark. Every time she did it, she expected that THIS would be the time that the Night King, infantile child that he had turned out to be, would be looking through the walker's eyes, playing with the last remaining Child of the Forest they held in captivity.

But no, just like the other times, the White Walker merely left when she ordered it, leaving her alone with the one called Leaf. Neither of them liked each other very much, but Lyanna still brought the cup of half-frozen water to the weak and drained Child's lips and Leaf still drank greedily as best she could, one eye swollen shut and the other wide open and staring at her visitor, her emotions concealed as they always were.

Once Lyanna was done letting the Child drink, she pulled the cup back and sat down right there on the ground before the bound wood nymph.

"Leaf."

"Lyanna Stark. Still your own woman?"

The female White Walker shrugged.

"As far as I can tell."

And hadn't that been a chore, convincing the Child that she wasn't the Night King's mindless slave. Even now, Lyanna was fairly certain that Leaf was just humoring her, assuming that everything they discussed was actually a chat with the leader of the White Walkers. She watched as Leaf's one good eye trailed over her visible skin. Leaf's lips curled in disgust.

"You were with him again. I can smell it. I can see it."

A sticking point between the two of them. Lyanna just smirked, shrugging her shoulders expressively.

"I was, I won't deny it. It was of my own free will though and I gave as good as I got. I took what I wanted. An… equivalent exchange, isn't that what you call it?"

If anything, Leaf looked even more disgusted by Lyanna's use of HER words to describe what she and the Night King did. Still, they'd have this conversation before. Leaf moved past it, as Lyanna expected her to.

"What do you want Lyanna Stark?"

"The same thing I always want Child of the Forest. To be free. Tell me how to break this curse, tell me how to regain my humanity."

Leaf laughed and ultimately choked and coughed as a result, her slight chest heaving as she tried to recover. Lyanna watched in silence, no sympathy in her glowing blue eyes. Finally, Leaf was composed enough to answer her once more.

"There is no freedom because there is no curse. The transformation to White Walker is permanent, not based in temporary curse. You have been remade, inside and out by his touch. It does not make sense that you remain intelligent enough to hold these conversations with me, but the truth is before my eyes. You are a White Walker Lyanna Stark. A weapon we should never have created, to fight a war we didn't need to wage. This is your fate."

With a snarl, Lyanna got to her feet and reared back, smacking Leaf across the face. This sent the Child of the Forest spinning away from her. The short wood nymph was suspended from the ceiling by chains, and her small bare feet scrabbled against the ground as she tried to regain her footing. Eventually she did and turned back to face a heavily breathing Lyanna Stark.

The female White Walker glared at the captive Child in silence for a long moment before snarling out another question.

"How do I break the bond?!"

"Death."

Leaf's answer is immediate, a sense of finality in that sole word she utters. Lyanna growls, not liking the answer.

"I've told you before; I cannot kill him, no matter how hard I try. It's like there's a block. The only damage I can cause him is superficial in nature and even that is only possible because he allows me, I can sense it. I can sense him, always at the back of my mind, always lurking. It's how I know he does not take liberties, but the knowledge that he could is enough of a yoke around my neck to want it GONE. So tell me, how do I break this bond?!"

The Child of the Forest hangs for a moment as if deciding what she should say. When Leaf finally does speak, it's in a tired, exhausted tone. This is a being that has lost everything, that has been brought low by her own creations. Leaf's people are dead, in part because of her. And her voice makes it clear that she knows it, as she explains how Lyanna could be free.

"I was not talking about him. I speak of you. Death is your freedom, Lyanna Stark. Death is the only way you will escape his grasp. Of course, if he were to die, so would you and all of the other White Walkers. If you COULD find a way to kill him, not only would you be free through death, you would end the threat your kind poses forever. He is the lynchpin."

This is not the answer Lyanna wants to hear, even if it is incredibly valuable information. Rather than snarl some more, or rage some more, or strike Leaf yet again, the female White Walker turns icy in her silence. There's a beat and then the involuntary Queen of the White Walkers spins on her heel and leaves the makeshift dungeon behind.

Leaf has but a moment of respite before her torturer returns, the mindless monster she helped to create walking back into the cave with untampered malice in his glowing blue eyes. The Child can't help the involuntary whimper that leaves her throat as he approaches. She longs for death, but they will not give it to her. The Night King sees to her continued existence personally, despite decades having passed since her fellows were allowed to die, one by one.

She may very well be the last remaining Child of the Forest by this point. Leaf hopes she isn't. She knows the Wall went up with greenseer magic on its foundations. The thought that a handful of her people still exist south of that great barrier gives her a hope that has yet to be extinguished. But as the pain begins again, that hope dims ever so slightly, the fire in her soul flickering and growing infinitesimally smaller with each passing moment. It takes the White Walker five minutes to manage it, but eventually Leaf breaks and her mouth opens as she screams in agony from his none-to-tender ministrations.

A hundred years into her penance, Leaf feels like she's just gotten started making up for the monstrosities her actions unleashed.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter might make people unhappy. I'm interested to see how everyone reacts to it. Not to give anything away, but merely remember that POV characters can be... unreliable narrators.**

 **-x-X-x-**

Rogund's hut had transformed into a village in the few decades since I'd tracked him down and conscripted him to my service. The man had done well for himself with my support and while there had been enemies that sought to undo him, thirty to forty years later, one man had become a tribe. When I'd asked him what he would name his tribe, his hesitant answer had startled a laugh out of me. And then when I'd really thought about it, I'd kept on laughing, much to his dismay as he stood frozen as if expecting me to kill him on the spot once my hysterics died down.

Of course, while I could have tried to explain to the Wildling man why him choosing the name "Thenn" for his family had me bursting out into laughter, I didn't bother. It wasn't like he'd get the joke, no this was something only I could enjoy. My dumbass, inadvertently stumbling onto the man who, even without my intervention would have gone on to create the Thenns, a clan of Free Folk widely regarded as the most advanced wildling tribe from the show?

It was fate. Or just luck. I'd essentially targeted the first Free Folk to leave his cave and build an actual structure. It made sense that that would be the direct ancestor of the Thenn people in the end. Though weirdly enough, Rogund and his ever-growing family were not cannibalistic. However, he and his sons HAD taken to shaving their heads clean. According to Rogund it was in deference to me, but I had a sinking suspicion that the man just liked not having to deal with hair and he was imposing that on his male family members, using me as an excuse.

To be fair, I did make a fairly good excuse. Everyone in the growing tribe had seen me at least once, even the youngest babies. I made a point of 'blessing' the children as they were born. In reality, I did nothing to their babies, but considering my White Walker's protection kept even the most inquisitive of the Thenns alive, both Rogund and the spearwives that he had carried off from the cave dwellers believed my blessings to be very real and very powerful.

Thenn children survived to adulthood so long as sickness did not take them. And that was enough for the tribe to have grown to about a hundred strong in the last fifty years, off nothing more than Rogund himself and the wives that he'd taken. Such fortune was unheard of north of the Wall, and word of the Thenns was spreading among the Free Folk from what I understood.

As I walked into the large village that Rogund had built around his original hut, I saw for the first time faces I didn't recognize. The tribe had grown again, but this time it was not via new births, but through migration. Outsiders stared at me and my escort in wide eyed terror, clutching at their weapons if they had any. I let my unblinking gaze pass over each and every one of them but I never stopped moving towards my destination.

Stepping past the flaps that covered the door of the largest structure in the village, I looked upon the hut's inhabitants. Rogund lay in his bed, old and infirm. The man was approaching sixty or seventy now, I never had figured out how old or young he'd been when I first came across him. But he HAD been fairly short. Still, to live as long as he had in a place like this was a testament to me more than anything else I figured. But perhaps not. Perhaps Rogund Thenn would have gone on to live this happy full life with a large growing tribe even without my support. Not quite this large though I liked to imagine, assuaging my ego.

Stepping forward, I watched in approval as Rogund's sons and daughters and his remaining wives all parted before me respectfully. Their eyes downcast and their hands clasped together, they looked as though they were praying. Perhaps some of them even were. I was the Night King to Rogund, but to his family, I was their god and their protector. Worship was encouraged most enthusiastically and by this point, quite commonplace among the Thenn.

Rogund looked at me through weary eyes as he lay in his bed. He tried to rise, only to begin to hack. I placed a blue, clawed hand on his chest and gently eased him back down.

"Rest."

The Wildling nods his head as his coughing eventually settles. One of his young granddaughters has a bowl of heated water, though in this temperature it can't be more than lukewarm by this point no matter how long she spent with it by the fire. She looks at me hopefully and I smile, beckoning her forward with my free hand. All watch as she gives her grandfather some water, helping him to relax far quicker than if I'd just let the coughing fit run his course.

When he's finally able to, Rogund speaks.

"T-Thank you for coming your Grace. I have… news for you."

I can't help the softness in my smile. This mortal man has grown on me. Rogund Thenn was an ambitious sort, but he was also smart enough to know when he was overwhelming outmatched. He had served me well these last fifty years and never once had the man considered treachery, as far as I knew. The eyes and ears among the Free Folk, that was the role the Thenns served. I intended for them to do more eventually, but for now they did well in that position. Rogund would not have called me here if it was not important.

Though I had no way of knowing exactly how important it was as he stared up into my eyes with a seriousness that surprised me.

"Your grace… the Free Folk now have a King. There is one who would lay claim to the title, despite your hold over it. He has been declared King-Beyond-The-Wall."

I stare in silence down at my most faithful mortal servant as he looks back at me. The hut is quiet, my White Walkers standing in absolute silence while Rogund's family stare at me with bated breath, perhaps expecting an outburst. Instead, I find myself reeling at this information, because I have a sinking suspicion I know what's happening right now. Collecting myself, I keep any stutter or stammer or hesitation from my voice as I speak.

"And what is this King's name, my dear servant?"

Rogund swallows and wets his lips before answering.

"They call him Joramun, your Grace."

I find myself suddenly wondering where Lyanna is. It's only then that I realize I haven't seen my Queen in months. To be fair, I've been fairly focused on playing God. Building a village without the top down view that an RTS gives you can be a real hassle. That's not really an excuse for not knowing where my bloody Queen is though.

Reaching out, I hunt her down mentally and find just where she's gone. And like that, my suspicions are realized. At the same time, I'm utterly flabbergasted that this somehow came to pass. What is this world? Is this show canon or book canon? Where the fuck am I, that I and the White Walkers exist as nothing more than the discarded experiments of the Children of the Forest… while there's still a motherfucking Night's King on the goddamn Wall?!

Joramun is King-Beyond-The-Wall, the thirteenth commander of the Night's Watch has declared himself King ON the Wall with my missing Lyanna at his side and the crows under his and her spell, and I'd bet my entire fucking undead army that Brandon the fucking Breaker was King in the North! This was beyond insane. My single action in creating a female White Walker had somehow created the book scenario of three Kings fighting over the Wall?!

No… no I needed to think rationally. Obviously I had not somehow created Joramun, Brandon the Breaker, and the Night's King by turning Lyanna Stark. I'd certainly created the situation I now found myself in, through self-sabotage and my own stupidity, but it was clear that those three men existed in this time regardless of what was canon and what wasn't. I'd merely recreated a version of events by turning Lyanna and giving her free reign.

It was a coincidence. A massive one to be sure, but just a coincidence. And Lyanna was in big fucking trouble when this was all over. I was going to tan her pale blue hide. If she wasn't my Queen, I very well might have crushed her will through our bond right then and there, forcing her to desert her new pawn and come back north to me. Even with her status, if a plan hadn't started forming in my mind at that moment, I may very well have done it anyways.

None of my reaction had shown itself outwardly. I'd frozen up and stayed still as a statue as I stared off into the distance, a side effect of reaching out to find Lyanna. That didn't stop Rogund and his family from fretting though of course. When I was finally ready to move about again, I found Rogund staring at me in confusion and fear while his wives, children and grandchildren all prostrated themselves across the large hut in front of me.

Gazing down at them all, I flicked my glowing blue eyes back to Rogund and smiled.

"This is good news Rogund. Very good news. I would like to meet this Joramun, soon. But before that there is something else I must do. You do not look well, old friend."

There's a pause at that as Rogund's family looks up from where they have their foreheads pressed against the floor to watch the exchange between he and I. Rogund himself looks relieved for all of a second before I refer to him as 'old friend', something I've never addressed any mortal as in the long millennia I've spent on this world.

His confusion and fear return as he swallows nervously once more.

"I-I have grown old your Grace."

I nod in agreement, the smile on my lips spreading slowly.

"Indeed you have. Do you remember what I said to you that day all those years ago when we first met Rogund Thenn? When you had no village, no family, and no name? I don't suppose you would. Human memory is fragile. I would think this would have stuck, but no matter."

Rogund looks confused for all of one more moment before his brown eyes widen in remembrance and understanding. There's a flicker of hope in his gaze and then my hand is on his face, my claws pressing into his jaw. The transformation goes much the same as it did with Lyanna a century and a half before. Already an old, infirm man, Rogund ends up looking much like many of my other White Walkers, decrepit and gnarled. But here in the frozen north among the Free Folk, beauty is meaningless. Good looks are worthless. Strength is all that matters, especially among the Thenn who have been raised to worship MY strength.

I pull my hand back and when Rogund Thenn rises from his bed, tossing off furs and standing to reveal his new White Walker form in full, there are gasps and murmurs all around us. I gaze around the room and see faces filled with surprise, awe, and amazement. A smile still on my lips, I look back to my newest White Walker, feeling the connection between our minds. This should work…

"Rogund."

The transformed man's eyes snap to me immediately and his lips curl back into a toothy smile.

"Your Grace."

My own smile takes on a distinctive edge at that. As expected, it does work. The White Walkers remaining from the Long Night and the days of the Children's experiments are unintelligent. Even if I pull back my control over them, they are nothing but creatures of death and destruction, just as Leaf had assumed of me. Whatever the Children had done to transform us in the first place was meant to destroy our personalities, our very souls.

What I could do on the other hand, did not. As evidenced by Lyanna and now Rogund, MY White Walkers were sentient and retained their sense of self, so long as I allowed it. As Rogund's family stared at us from their places still kneeled on the floor, I reach out and clasp Rogund's arm as he instinctively does the same. Pulling him in close, my other hand closes around his shoulder and I grin ferally.

"Welcome to your eternal reward my child."

His glowing blue eyes slide down to where we touch and the words slip unbidden from his lips.

"Thank you… father."

I pause for a brief moment to consider that. The "my child" bit had been spur of the moment to be sure. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked the dynamic. So with a hearty laugh and a slap on my newest White Walker's back, I led him from his hut into the world beyond. Those who had been caring for him trailed after us in a daze as Rogund Thenn reborn introduced himself to his tribe.

Even as celebration began, I found my mind on other things. Lyanna had crossed me and though I could understand why, that did not make the blow any less painful. Still, I'd taken a direwolf for myself at the end of the Long Night and then I'd spent a hundred and fifty years refusing to properly tame it. What did I expect to happen?

Ah well, once the Night's King was brought low, I would have more than enough time to show my Queen the error of her ways. But I would not cheat and simply break her will. No, I would use other underhanded, dirty tactics to teach the she wolf a lesson. Lyanna may never love me of her own free will, but she would learn that her place was with her own kind at MY side, NOT with the humans to the South.

Still. I was a little amused by this betrayal. Once it was all said and done, I would make sure to ask her exactly what her plan had entailed, after I had thoroughly torn any chance of her success to shreds.

-x-X-x-

Lyanna ran her fingers through dark black hair and let out a sigh. The thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch lay beside her, staring up at the ceiling in silence. In terms of sexual prowess, he did not compare to the Night King unfortunately. By the Gods their names were annoyingly similar. When the Lord Commander had actually announced himself as the Night's King before his men and declared her his Night's Queen, Lyanna had had to actively resist the urge to roll his eyes at him.

The man thought himself clever for the title, given that he'd been the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch beforehand. But ultimately, it was just annoying, knowing that there was a Night King and now a Night's King and she hated the fact that one of them was better at fucking her, while the other lay there like a limp dead fish, making her fuck herself.

The problem with corrupting a human's mind, Lyanna had swiftly found out after enticing and seducing the thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, was that they became slavishly devoted to you. She supposed this was what her fate would be if the Night King ever used their bond. She'd be nothing but a mindless slave, filled with nothing but love and adoration for her King.

Instead, here she was plotting his death. Lyanna wondered when he would get bored of his little village building for long enough to actually discover her absence. It had been months, but from her talks with Leaf she'd learned that the Night King had existed for an amount of time that boggled her mind. Perhaps he simply didn't see the passage of time in the same way.

All the better for her. She'd managed to worm her way into the Night's Watch with little effort and now here she lay beside the Lord Commander himself, enthralled to her service. Unfortunately, while she could stand atop the wall, she could not leave it and go south. That was apparently where the barrier that kept the White Walkers out lay.

She could never return to Winterfell, not as she was now. And if Leaf was to be believed, she could never reverse what the Night King had done to her. That left only one path open. To protect her descendants on BOTH sides of the Wall, she had to act. So act she had. Lyanna was ready now and so was her pawn. The Night's King would range out from the Wall with every crow under his command and they would hunt down the Night King armed with dragonglass spears and arrows.

The dangerous material was aplenty on the Wall and while it made Lyanna weary to be around it, she knew she would need all of it to even have a shot at victory. She would- Lyanna's thoughts were cut off as she felt it, HIM in the back of her mind. The female White Walker's lips pressed together tightly as the Night King reached out to her, a note of question in his mental touch.

So then, here it was. She'd been discovered and he would no doubt crush her mind and drag her back north. Her plan had always been a long shot, but Lyanna had had to try. She readied herself for the death of personality, glowing blue eyes staring down into the vacant face of the man she'd already done the same to.

Unlike her however, the Night King ultimately did nothing. After a moment, she felt a sense of… finality, and then he pulled back. Lyanna rose from her place in bed, staring at a seemingly random wall, though in actuality it was not random at all. She considered what she'd felt, contemplated what it could mean. Eventually, she settled on something she thought might make sense concerning the Night King's intentions.

His message, if it could even be called that, might have meant he was coming for her. If that was the case, Lyanna suddenly had the advantage. If the Night King led his walkers to the Wall to hunt and capture her, she could make this his final resting place. The Night's Watch would even be doing their duty, defending the Wall from the monsters of the Long Night. With the Wall's fortifications and the amount of dragonglass they had… the Night King's death had gone from a mere chance to a certainty, if he actually came this far south.

Lyanna Stark's mouth curled into a bigger and bigger smile as she grew more and more convinced that this was what was going to happen. The Night King would come to the Wall searching for her. And together, they would both die atop this frozen barrier. She would never again lay eyes upon Winterfell… but at least she could make sure her home never faced the likes of him again.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: And here we are. I wrote this entire thing in the last two hours, from 11:40 PM my time to 1:47 AM my time. Apologies if its shit. And yes, I did just speed write the biggest chapter of this fic when I probably should have been in bed, because I have absolutely no concept of self-control. Enjoy~**

 **-x-X-x-**

To say Lyanna Stark was upset would be an understatement. Livid might have sufficed, but the female White Walker felt like she was beyond even that. She stared down from the battlements atop the Wall with nothing on her frozen blue face, no expression, no emotion. Her glowing eyes gazed out at the army of her kinsmen that had so graciously come to relieve her pawn of command.

Could they not see what they were doing?! Could they not understand that she was trying to save ALL OF THEM?! Finally, emotion bled into her face as Lyanna gritted her teeth together and roared in impotent rage, slamming her fist into a nearby half-frozen wooden post. The wood shattered at the point of impact as her enhanced strength tore right through it. The two men behind her, soldiers of the Night's Watch who had bent the knee to her pawn, flinched back as the entire structure she was stood upon shook just a bit with the force of her blow.

They were afraid of her. The humans, her descendants, her kin. All of them were afraid of her. That was what had brought them to the Wall, that and what their perceived as a betrayal of the Thirteenth Lord Commander's Oath when he declared himself Night's King. A Stark rode at the front of an army of Northmen as they laid siege to the Wall from the side it was not meant to protect from. They came from the back and they were making steady progress in retaking the massive barrier that kept back to Land of Always Winter and its inhabitants.

Staring down, Lyanna could see with her enhanced eyesight the King of Winter that led the Northmen against her pawn and thus her. Brandon the Breaker they called him and Lyanna's cold heart ached in memory of her brother. If only she could sit down with this Brandon and talk to him. If only she could explain what she was doing and why. But no, he had not wanted to talk. There was apparently talk of her and her pawn bewitching the entire Night's Watch.

Lyanna almost wanted to laugh hysterically at the idea. The men of the Night's Watch hadn't been bewitched. The majority had simply agreed to serve their Lord Commander as he became the Night's King. Those that didn't had died. But now she was some kind of witch and those who served were mind controlled thralls, while those who'd died were sacrificed souls to increase her and her pawn's power.

It would be laughable, but given the circumstances, Lyanna wasn't enjoying the humor. The King of Winter, the Stark of Winterfell had come to retake control of his Wall. Meanwhile…

Spinning around, the white haired woman walked at a clipped pace across the battlement to the opposite side of the Wall. It was a quick walk but when she looked down on the other side, what she saw did not make her happy in the least. Perhaps if things had gone as she'd planned, she could have accepted her descendant's assault on the Wall from the south.

But the Night King had not come for her. Somehow he'd known that she would be betrayed by the very race she was trying to save, not on one front, but on two. Staring down at the Free Folk army below her, Lyanna Stark snarled. They were led by a man called Joramun. The King-Beyond-the-Wall. It showed just how little the Night King cared that this Joramun even still had his head. The Night King should have been the King-Beyond-the-Wall, no matter how much she hated his frozen guts!

Yet here the Wildling was with an army of thousands at his back. More than that though, he had giants. Lyanna had no idea how this Joramun had managed it, but he had dozens, maybe even hundreds of giants in his army. She could see them now, a few riding fucking mammoths as they struck at the Wall's fortifications, aiming to slip inside of the gates and invade the place. Luckily the gates were still closed… for now.

Lyanna's head whipped back and forth from one side of the Wall to the other as she considered her options. Enemies to the North… enemies to the South. And neither was the enemy that she'd needed to show up. The humans she'd been willing to sacrifice everything for, were now working together to kill her. Her descendants, striking in conjunction with the Wildlings that had once been their kin but now were considered to be little better than savages.

This alliance, for she knew it was that, their attacks and the places they were striking were too strategic to be coincidental, had come about because of her. A White Walker had infiltrated the Wall and despite her efforts to curtail such rumors, the information had gotten out. They came for HER. They wanted HER head.

Lyanna's glowing blue eyes were filled with hate, but also something else… desperation. This was not where she died. She would not lose her life in such a useless manner, not to the very humans she was trying to protect. No, this was not to be her end. Spinning around one final time, Lyanna gestured sharply to her 'guards'.

"Go fight alongside your brothers! I have no need for your protection!"

There's hesitance, because of course there is. She may have true power over their new 'King', but to them she is but a woman even now. Growling in annoyance, Lyanna repeats herself, distilling her previous order to a single roared word.

"GO!"

They go, finally. Only once their gone does Lyanna Stark slump a little bit, the fight leaving her as she allowed her eyes to fill with the grief she's feeling. The first time in over a century that she's been so close to her family. A Stark has come to the Wall, seeking her out. Unfortunately, as she'd always known deep down inside, he's only seeking her out to kill her. All of them, all they wish to do is kill her.

As she begins to move towards where she needs to go, Lyanna's mind falls on the one who turned her into what she is now. The Night King has made her into a creature so formidable that entire armies rise up at the mere mention of her existence. And yet, despite the actions of him and his ilk during the Long Night, he does not eradicate the Wildlings.

Instead, he plays house with them. He builds villages. He promotes loyalty. What is the Night King playing at? She knows him for the monster he is. But only now does Lyanna realize just how much of a mystery his plans are to her. What does he intend for the Free Folk? What does he intend for the Wall and for the North? More importantly… what does he intend for her?

The female White Walker has but one option open to her now. She'd heard the Night King say a phrase once that felt apt in this situation. Flaring her nostrils and breathing out hard, Lyanna Stark squared her shoulders as she marched on.

It was 'time to face the music'.

-x-X-x-

Brandon Stark, also known as King of Winter and Brandon the Breaker, stood in the Night's King's makeshift throne room. A contingent of his men stood behind him and a man he very well might have to call his equal stood at his side. Joramun. That was his name. They were calling him the King-Beyond-the-Wall. Brandon wasn't sure if he was supposed to care or not. His own Kingdom did not extend past the Wall. That was the point of the massive barrier, to act as a border through which none of the dark terrors beyond it could pass.

But then, the dark terrors had found a way in anyways. And now here stood a Wildling King for the first time in nearly two centuries, with Free Folk following him… including Giants. Only one stood in the group that backed Joramun up, but Brandon could still tell many of his men were made all the more nervous by the huge creature's presence.

Still, they were here as allies and they were here for one reason.

"Where is she brother? Where is the White Walker?"

Brandon Stark, Thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, sat upon a throne covered in black furs. His vision was glazed over and he stared at the ground without comment. The King of Winter hated to see his brother like this, almost as much as he'd hated to receive the news of what the man had done. They were supposed to be family, kin. Yet his twin had betrayed him. Had it always been there, lurking under the surface? Only one of them could be King and he had been the Brandon Stark born earlier.

At the time, his brother had seemed fine with it and when he'd offered the post of Lord Commander to the man, Brandon Stark had been ecstatic to become the Thirteenth Lord Commander of such a prestigious honor. The Night's Watch was the North's greatest treasure, an order with a noble purpose and a dire enemy. And for years, their Lord Commander had led them well.

Only to become this. Brandon the Breaker desperately hoped that his brother had been enthralled by the witch as the rumors said, even if his fate would have to be the same regardless. For his own peace of mind, he hoped that the 'Night's King' would not speak up and answer him. Unfortunately, the man did eventually do so, his voice raspy and quiet, but heard clearly by all in the Hall all the same.

"She is gone. Fled back beyond the Wall I assume. She promised me glory. And then she abandoned me. I am nothing without her."

There are jeers from the wildlings to Brandon's right as he gritted his teeth together. Joramun scoffs and hefts his massive war axe. But the King of Winter isn't done yet and he holds out a hand to stay his contemporary's blood lust as he says his piece.

"You WERE something without her brother. You were Lord Commander. You were meant to be the Sword in the Darkness! The Watcher on the Wall! How could you forget your oath over a woman, over a CREATURE?! Do you not remember the stories we heard as children? Do you not remember what you swore to guard the Realms of Men FROM?!"

Now even his men are becoming anxious, riled up by their King's obvious anger. If the Wildlings were spoiling for a slaughter before, they're practically already rushing forward now. Still Brandon holds for a moment to give his brother his last words.

"She was… so beautiful."

The King of Winter chokes back a sob as he draws his Greatsword from his back. Joramun looks like he wants to say something as Brandon approaches his twin on the makeshift throne, but the King-Beyond-the-Wall stays both himself and his forces. Silence falls as the Breaker comes to a stop before the Night's King.

His brother's head is down, but when Brandon stands before him, the man finally looks up. His face is mutated, purple veins coming from his single glowing blue eye as he glares with vehement hatred at the King of Winter. Horrified and disgusted at what he sees, Brandon the Breaker rears back and swings. A moment later, the Night's King's short reign ends as his head rolls across the floor.

The tip of his Greatsword sinks into the floor as Brandon bows his head and leans on it for support. There is a cheer, started by the wildlings but soon continued by his own men. The whole hall is filled with celebration for a brief moment before the King of Winter whirls around and snarls loud enough to silence everyone.

"His Watch has ended! As King of Winter, I declare the Thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch to be nameless. His house and his identity will be struck from the histories! He will be nothing more than a traitor to our children and our children's children and their children's children! The Night's King's reign is OVER!"

His heartfelt, passion-filled words spoken, the Hall broke out into cheers once again, this time started by the Northerners and only taken up partially by the Free Folk at their sides. As Brandon the Breaker walked forward, Joramun moved to cut him off. King stared down King for a long moment as the King-Beyond-the-Wall lifted his chin as if to ask what happened now.

Were they to fight? Brandon was tired and weary. War was not in him at this moment, though he was sure it would be eventually. For now though…

"Joramun, so-called King-Beyond-the-Wall. The North does not recognize your Kingdom. But we do recognize your actions and the actions of the Free Folk on this day. The White Walkers will always be a threat to us all… and where there is one, there is bound to be more."

Brandon paused, even as Joramun's face became unreadable. There was something lurking in the other King's eyes, but the King of Winter could not tell what it was. Ignoring it, he continued on.

"You will be given one week to pull back from the Wall. So long as you and yours do not raise arms against us, no Northerner will strike a Wildling on pain of death. Leave the Wall; go back to your caves and your tribes and your huts. Your service will be remembered."

There's a pause. Brandon's grip on his sword tightens and the atmosphere in the Hall becomes almost unbearably tense. Everyone is a moment away from the fight; everyone is ready to begin the next war if Joramun decides it will be that way. But after a moment, the King-Beyond-the-Wall drops the edge of his massive war axe into the ground and laughs uproariously.

"You've got balls King of Winter, I'll give you that! Fine! We'll leave. Not like we came to the Wall to fucking pass through and become kneelers anyways you fuck! Hah! Good fight though, I'll give you that. Pretty sure we killed more crows than you by far though!"

They had, but that was because the Northern Army had stayed their blade as much as they could. The men of the Night's Watch were kin after all, and where one could be spared, one was. Someone had to man the Wall going forward. Hopefully with his brother dead and the White Walker fled, the enthrallment over the Watch would fade away.

When Brandon just stood there staring at Joramun in silence though, not reacting or responding to the provocation for several long moments, the King-Beyond-the-Wall just snorted derisively and spat to the side. Then he left and his army left with him. It was an orderly retreat for the Free Folk and while there were incidents on both sides, within a week the Wall would be occupied only by Northmen and those of the Night's Watch once more.

It would be a long road to recovery though.

-x-X-x-

I held back the smile as Lyanna came into view over the hill, but my gaze still zeroed in on her from where I stood in the middle of the Thenns' village. The female White Walker looked fine, not even winded from her long trek north. She did look just a tad peeved and a bit down trodden though. And her hair was all over the place, wild and untamed.

Eyes followed my gaze and alit on her and soon enough everyone in the village was staring at the female White Walker as she approached me, walking right past the village's gate guards without sparing them a single glance. With her closer now, I let a slight, placid smile spread across my face. I put my arms behind my back and clasped my hands together, knowing with a bone deep certainty that she could not kill me, and thus not fearing her in the slightest.

"Did you have a fun trip my dea-mmph!"

Lyanna grabbed the front of my tunic and pulled me down to her level, crashing her lips roughly into my own. And then her legs were hooking around mine and in one deft move she had me on the cold, frozen ground. Not that that bothered me any. I cocked an eyebrow up at her as she clawed at my chest. An ugly snarl spread across her face and she spoke only two words before getting started.

"Shut up."

-x-X-x-

Lyanna's fingers worked deftly at my clothing and once I realized what she was doing, I worked deftly at hers. Neither of us spared any more attention to the Free Folk all around us, staring, watching in awe and satisfaction. Soon enough, Lyanna had my cock out and in her hand, stroking up and down as I grew larger and larger. My own hands ripped at the dress that human idiot had no doubt given her, tearing it away from her chest and exposing her delicious breasts to my sight as she let out another snarl.

I just smirked, even as I groped and mauled her tits. Hiking up the skirt of her torn dress, Lyanna was the one who ripped her smallclothes from her body and tossed them aside. Then, she sank down on my now fully hard cock with a gasp and a groan, even as I forced her breasts to my mouth and began to suck and bite at them.

We fucked right there in the middle of the village. Lyanna stayed on top for a time, but eventually I reversed things and put her on her back so I could plow her senseless. When she tried to take control again, I did not allow it, instead wrestling with her until she was prone. It was a dominance play and I was showing her in plain and simple terms, just who was in charge.

SHE had come to ME. While she snarled and growled as I slammed home into her from behind with her body pinned beneath me, she still also thrust her hips back towards me as best she could. At the same time, the beautiful inhuman woman also bit my fingers when I placed them to close to her mouth. My lovely direwolf, vicious and primal and oh so very gorgeous.

I grinned almost ferally as I pounded into her cunt from above, slamming up against her cervix almost violently with each thrust. While doing so, I reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, gathering it up into a ponytail and tugging her head back. My other hand grasped her throat, though I did not squeeze.

With my lips right beside her ear, I spoke.

"Tell me… did he even compare?"

Lyanna roared in defiance and thrashed against me, but I had her locked down and my strength overwhelmed hers. She was one of the youngest White Walkers after all, and would be THE youngest if not for my recent turning of Rogund. While I? I was the Night King. I pounded into her with all my force and held her head still so she could not head-butt me, even as I asked again.

"Did his cock reach as deep as mine does now? Did he bring you to completion each and every time, or did he cum inside you early, his pitiful seed not even reaching your womb?"

My words are hissed and only for Lyanna's ears. None of the Free Folk watching us can hear me. They can certainly hear her howling though as she fights and struggles against me. But I do not let her up; I do not let her go. I give her no relief and no mercy. Her cunt squeezes around me in a delightful way that tells me just how much her body is enjoying this, even if SHE isn't.

Still, she instigated this, after abandoning me, after conspiring against me, after fucking another man besides me. I may have wronged Lyanna Stark when I stole her from her family, but I was her family now and it was high time she recognized that fact. Growling, I thrust harder and roar my question directly into her ear this time.

"TELL ME!"

"NO!"

Her response finally breaks free and once she's said it, it's like she can't stop.

"NO! He was not better! He was pitiful! He was small! He was a weak man, bound by his broken dreams! YOU ARE BETTER! FUCK! Fucking take me you fucking MONSTER!"

And so I do just that. I could care less what this might mean to the Thenns watching us. Perhaps they'll write songs about it even. It doesn't matter. All of my attention is focused on fucking Lyanna Stark's tight blue body into the motherfucking ground. She cries out and climaxes twice around my member before I finally fill her womb with my seed. Only once I'm done inside of her do I pull out and let her up.

She lays there for a second, as I sit on my ass and watch her. Then, slowly but surely, the female White Walker gets to her hands and knees and then to her feet. Her tattered torn dress barely covers her modesty. She looks at me in silence and then turns and begins to walk away.

-x-X-x-

As my Queen limps out of the Thenn camp, I fix up my own clothing and stand. My glowing blue eyes slowly move around the village and as they meet human pupils, each and every Thenn lowers their eyes and falls to their knees in subservience. Huh, well that's nice. Looking to where Lyanna is disappearing into the distance, heading further north to where we made our home for a hundred years, I let the wide smirk I've been holding back finally grow across my face.

The Night's King defeated and my Queen back in my arms… so to speak. And all it had cost me was an ornately carved horn, inspired by my memories of legends from canon that may or may not have ever been true. Amusing, to say the least. I couldn't help laughing a bit as the entire Thenn tribe knelt before me. It probably made me look insane. Ah well, I was already a monster beyond their comprehension, who the fuck cared?

-x-X-x-

Joramun, King-Beyond-the-Wall, was a tough motherfucker. Literally. But even he was having trouble keeping his legs from shaking as he stared at the monsters he'd found in the Thenn village. The Thenns were the fastest growing tribe in the area, and the most prosperous too. While he'd become King of the Free Folk without them, he still wished to bring them into the fold, if only to find out how the fuck it was they did it.

So he'd taken his army and surrounded the encampment. Completely peacefully of course. It was the implication more than anything. He was threatening them… by NOT threatening them. Joramun had been pretty proud of that, until he'd stopped in front of Rogund Thenn's hut and demanded the man come out. Of course, the King-Beyond-the-Wall already knew that Rogund Thenn was dying slowly and couldn't even stand let alone brave the cold.

He hadn't expected to actually get the man to come out and had in fact intended to eventually go into see the old fuck. It would be a nice little concession that didn't cost him anything while potentially gaining him some good will among the Thenns. Only, that wasn't how it had worked out. He'd called for Rogund Thenn and the stuff of nightmares had stepped out of the hut.

Two White Walkers stood in front of him and Joramun's eyes were wide, his breath coming out colder than usual as he stared in shock and horror. Even the bloodthirsty King-Beyond-the-Wall knew that he faced something that could not be fought, that could not be reasoned with. He was so fucking screwed. He shouldn't have entered the Thenn village alone. This was about to become his tomb.

Then one of the White Walkers, the one with a circlet of horns rising from his scalp, spread his arms wide, palms out, smiled, and spoke.

"Peace Joramun. Peace, King-Beyond-the-Wall."

Joramun gaped. Then he looked around and finally realized that the Thenns were not running around in terror. No, they were continuing their tasks, though many had their eyes on the exchange happening in their midst and those who did not were still very obviously listening in as they did their work.

"What… what is this?"

The King-Beyond-the-Wall already knew the answer of course. This was the answer to the Thenns' prosperity. This was the reason for their success. They were serving the bloody White Walkers! Said White Walker laughed and looked around, his smile growing.

"I think you know what all of this is Joramun. But as for what's happening right here and now… well you did ask for Rogund Thenn, did you not?"

When the one with the horns gestured to the one without and the other White Walker stepped forward, Joramun blanched. He'd met Rogund Thenn before and only now, as he stared, did he see the smallest semblance of a resemblance between the monster before him and the man who had created this place.

"Joramun. All grown up I see. And with an army at my doorstep. I'd be more upset, but I'm sure you're smart enough not to attack now that you know the Thenns are under my King's protection."

Well, the circlet of horns HAD reminded Joramun of a crown. Still, the Wildling couldn't help asking the obvious.

"King?"

Rogund, or whatever he'd been turned into, smiled a sharp toothed grin.

"You stand before the Night King, he who rules supreme over the Land of Always Winter. You stand before a being that has seen the past four thousand years and you stand because in his benevolence, my King has saw fit not to wipe the Free Folk off of these lands. He sees the potential in you, in all of us. He wishes to see you flourish, Joramun, King-Beyond-the-Wall."

"Indeed. I have a gift for you, from one King to another. You march on the Wall, do you not?"

Joramun's gaze moved back to this so-called 'Night King'. Rogund had sounded… reverent as he extolled the virtues of the White Walker beside him. Now, the horned one smiled and held up something wrapped in cloth and tied with string. Joramun stared but made no move to take it. Despite his fear, the Wildling found the courage within himself to speak his mind, even in the face of what he'd been raised to believe was the greatest evil the world had ever known.

"I march on the Wall in order to kill one of your own. I march on the Wall to destroy the White Walker that sits in the Nightfort. I believe, as do the Free Folk that follow me, that she is a menace that must be stopped. As are you."

Rather than grow angry and kill him as Joramun is half expecting, the Night King lets out a sigh and shakes his head.

"You believe me a monster. I suppose in your eyes, I am one. But we share a common goal King-Beyond-the-Wall. And I am not the menace you see me as. Nor is my wayward child. She has merely been led astray by her desires. She means no harm to you. She is no more a threat to you than I am."

"And are you not a threat?"

Joramun had to say it. It came out fast and the Night King merely smiled widely, showing off the same rows of sharp teeth that Rogund had.

"Only if you make me one Joramun."

His world reeling, the Wildling couldn't help glancing back down at the 'gift' the Night King had for him.

"And this gift? What must I do for it?"

The Night King's smile grew ever wider.

"Here and now? You will leave the Thenns in peace and take your army to the Wall without conscripting them. In return, this gift I offer you will give you an amplifier to your fighting strength far beyond anything that the few dozen men in this village would give you. You will also send a man to treat with the King of Winter, Brandon the Breaker. Together, the two of you will have no trouble taking the Wall back from this upstart 'Night's King'."

The way the Night King says those last two words with such disdain makes Joramun believe it's a bit personal. Surprisingly, this puts the King-Beyond-the-Wall at ease a bit. He understands personal. Though he does not understand something else the White Walker has said.

"The King of Winter? The Stark? What the hell does this have to do with him?"

The Night King grins wickedly once more.

"Did you think Brandon Stark would not act when news reached him of the Night's King's treachery? Did you not think he would march with the Northern Host to put the Night's Watch in its place and the Wall back under his command? Alone and unorganized, neither of you can take the Wall from the Night's Watch. It is too fortified. And even if you both attack, but at separate times, you give too much of a chance for disastrous failure. My child is not an idiot in matters of warfare. However, together…"

Joramun could see what the Night King was getting at.

"Together we could launch our attacks at the same time and victory would be assured as we overwhelmed them from both sides."

"Precisely."

Joramun shuddered at the White Walker's pleased look. Focusing instead on the wrapped object in his hands, the King-Beyond-the-Wall cleared his throat and nodded to it.

"This gift that will amplify my army's strength. Show it to me."

The Night King did so easily, with a casualness that spoke to his utter calm in contrast to Joramun's continued nervousness. What he revealed was a beautifully crafted horn, embossed with gold and engraved with runes.

"A horn?"

An incredulous note filled his voice as he stared with a furrowed brow. The Night King simply continued to smile as he held it up for Joramun to see.

"The Horn of Winter. Joramun, King-Beyond-the-Wall… how would you like to add Giant's Friend to your far-to-short list of titles?"

Joramun's eyes widened but before he could respond, the Night King had placed the horn against his lips and blew. A loud blast of sound escaped it, but it did not sound different from any other horn Joramun had ever heard. Yet, a moment later the ground shook and Joramun heard panicked cries from his army. Within moments, a long convoy of Giants, some on Mammoths, some simply on their two feet yet impossibly tall anyways, walked into the Thenn village.

Only about ten actually fit inside the village, while the rest stayed outside. The largest one stood at the head of the train of massive creatures and as he walked forward, he ignored Joramun completely in favor of looking to the Night King. The White Walker was unperturbed, despite seeming small next to the hulking giant.

With one hand holding the horn, the Night King pressed his other hand to his chest, still smiling.

"Friend."

Joramun watched in shock as the giant repeated the gesture and spoke in a deep, full voice.

"Friend."

With that exchange finished, the White Walker looked past his 'friend' to Joramun and lifted up the Horn of Winter.

"Well King-Beyond-the-Wall? Will you take up this gift and become friend of the Giants?"

It was clear what the Night King wanted him to do. Slowly but surely, Joramun forced himself forward, not even sure until after the first step had been taken whether he could move his tensed up body. Eventually though, he stood within reaching distance of the horn that the Night King held outstretched. Lips pressed tightly together, Joramun lifted a shaking hand and grabbed the Horn of Winter where the Night King was not touching it.

Rather than let go, the White Walker leaned in.

"There is one more thing you will do for me King-Beyond-the-Wall. My wayward child will flee when she sees the combined strength of you and the King of Winter. She will flee back to me and you will make sure a path is clear for her to do so. If she dies, I will eradicate every last Free Folk in my lands, leaving no one but the Thenns alive. Is that understood?"

Joramun's fear had trickled away as the White Walker and he had spoken almost amicably. He'd begun to see the creature in front of him as nothing more than a man, albeit a long-lived one. He'd even, for a short moment, viewed this Night King as an equal, one of the few equals he even had in his new, lofty position.

The foolhardy thought of equality between him and the White Walker had fled when the creature had summoned nearly a hundred Giants with a horn blast. Now as the Night King's glowing blue eyes seemed to pierce his very soul, Joramun's fear returned. He swallowed thickly as he found himself unable to look away from the Night King's gaze.

"… Aye."

And then the smile was back, their eye contact was broken, and the White Walker let go of the horn, leaving Joramun holding it. Blinking stupidly, Joramun looked up as the massive Giant turned to him curiously, staring down at the horn. After a moment, it pressed its large hand against its chest and spoke in an inquisitive tone.

"Friend?"

Licking his lips, the King-Beyond-the-Wall did the obvious. He repeated the Giant's gesture and nodded.

"Friend."

The creature snorted and nodded before turning back and beginning to walk out of the Thenn village, his fellows following after. Joramun spared one last glance in the Night King's direction, but the White Walker simply motioned for him to leave, almost as if he was shooing him away. In the end, the King-Beyond-the-Wall allowed himself to be shooed.

He and his army left the Thenns behind as quickly as possible, now with Giants marching alongside them. Because he had foolishly gone alone into the Thenn encampment, not a single man had seen what Joramun saw. Rumors spread like wildfire about how the hell he'd gone to recruit the Thenns and ended up with Giants instead. Joramun did not correct any of them, nor did he explain what had really happened.

The King-Beyond-the-Wall flirted momentarily with the idea of turning back around and attempting to defeat the White Walkers and this Night King with his army at his back. But the Giants would no doubt turn on him, 'Horn of Winter' or not. He was no fool. And to face White Walkers… a sole White Walker had seen the rise of two armies, one made of Free Folk and one made of Kneelers.

This Night King had an uncountable number of the creatures at his call in the True North. How could Joramun lead his people into a slaughter like that, when the cost for the survival of all Free Folk was so simple? Letting out a shuddering breath, the King-Beyond-the-Wall marched on.

Fuck. He couldn't wait to kill some crows. At least then things would make sense again.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: And here we are. I'm thinking next chapter won't be a straight time skip to the Andals invasion, but instead a handful of scenes spread out over the intervening time period between now and then.**

 **-x-X-x-**

The pain was excruciating, but her torturer was aware enough of what he was doing to her to keep her on just the right side of conscious. There was no sweet oblivion for Leaf, no whiting out that involved her getting even a slight reprieve from the agony. Instead there was merely constant and consistent torment. She suffered each second of each minute of each hour of each day.

Only her connection to the Earth and the life around her, as frozen and corrupted as it all was, allowed Leaf to keep track of the passage of time. Knowing that she'd been tortured nearly nonstop for almost two hundred years did not help much though. Sometimes the Child wished she didn't know, if only to see if that way was any better than this way.

But she could no more stop feeling what she felt then she could stop breathing. And while she wished for both things many a time, her greatest failure would not let her die.

"That's enough."

The pain stopped and the White Walker that tortured her almost nonstop stepped away. Leaf wasn't as relieved as one might expect though. Speak of the devil and he will appear. It was hard to lift her head and hard to open her one working eye, but Leaf managed it all the same. She had to, to show the creature before her that she was not broken, merely bent.

The horned White Walker stared at her with unreadable glowing blue eyes. Leaf hated it, that she couldn't find the malice or the hatred or the malevolence in that gaze that lurked right beneath the surface. There'd been a time when she could see his emotions. Before they'd turned him, she'd seen the terror and the fear. After they'd crushed his will, she'd seen his anger and impotent rage in his eyes, the only way he could even convey his true emotions.

And when the Long Night had come and he and his kind had destroyed their species, Leaf had gotten a very authentic showing of just how deep the Night King's hate for the Children… for her, ran. Yet now he looked at her like one would stare at a dying animal. She needed the hate. She needed the malice. She needed him to be an enemy that she could rail against and fight.

"I had a question for you Leaf."

He had never called her by her name. She hadn't even known he knew it. Her sole working eye widened slightly, bulging out of her skull. In response, the corners of the Night King's lips quirked up in a sort of smile. It made her shudder in disgust and horror. None of it made sense anymore. After what the Children had done to the White Walkers, none of them were meant to be intelligent. They were weapons, made for one purpose and one purpose only. Killing.

They had done their job well too, almost too well. By the time the Children made peace with the First Men, those that they made peace with actually didn't know of the White Walker's existence, despite the Children using them within five years of the treaty. Why? Because when the White Walkers were deployed, they did not leave witnesses or survivors. They didn't leave evidence either. Those that died got up and walked away, trailing after the White Walkers as they returned to their handlers and to their crypts until the next time they would be needed.

The Children had considered the reanimation of the dead to be something of a cleanup tool. Despite using the White Walkers as weapons against their foes, they never thought to use the dead as well. Perhaps it was shortsighted of them. Perhaps it was merely beyond their consciences to do so, even if the creation of the Walkers in the first place was not.

Ultimately, when the time had come to put their weapons to slumber, they had burned the army of wights that the Night King and his kind had inadvertently assembled. At that point, after two thousand years of strife, there may very well have been more wights then living First Men on the continent. Perhaps even more wights then the grand total of the First Men and the Children combined. It did not matter, they burned all the same and the Children used their ashes to grow new Weirwoods in order to appease nature.

Only too late did they realize just how much they had wronged the Earth with their experiments. Two thousand years passed before the Earth retaliated, but when it did and when the Long Night fell over Westeros, the White Walkers returned and the Children of the Forest died in droves for hers and her fellows' crimes.

Now it was just her left. Even her fellows had barely lasted a decade under the Night King's tender mercies. He'd enjoyed killing them far too much and each had died in excruciating pain. But not her. She'd been kept alive and once the Night King had finished with her comrades, he'd ignored her for decades at a time, leaving her constant torture to one of his subordinates.

But even now, his intelligence bewildered Leaf. Even if he was the first, the leader… his mind should have been crushed by their magics just as the rest had been. The fact that he remained sentient and that Lyanna Stark did as well, made absolutely no logical sense. Yet here he was, talking to her. He'd said something hadn't he? The White Walker was clearly waiting for an answer.

Licking her lips ever so slowly, Leaf spoke with a raspy voice. Not from disuse, but from overuse. She'd been screaming minutes before after all and the only reason that she hadn't been when he came in was because no more sound would come from her ruined throat. Still, Children of the Forest had modest regenerative capabilities. The duration of a few minutes was enough to give her at least this much of a voice back.

"Ask."

This seemed to please the monstrosity she'd brought into this world. He stepped closer to where she remained suspended from the ceiling, her arms over her head. Even if she was free, the Child wasn't sure her arms would even work anymore. At least not for a few hours. They would need time to regenerate, as would the rest of her. Her constant torture did not allow for such things.

The Night King crouched down in front of her, bringing himself to eye level with the short Child. Leaf's one bulbous eye looked into his glowing blues as he smiled sardonically.

"I wanted to know why."

"We were at wa-."

"No, not that."

Leaf fell silent, confused as to what the creature meant then. If not that, then what?

"More personal than that. Why me specifically. Many of the White Walkers you made are infirm old men. But I was not. Where did you find me? Why did you grab me? I've always wondered."

The Child of the Forest, perhaps the last remaining Child of the Forest, stared in silence at the Night King. Eventually, she found her voice.

"You… do not know?"

That got a laugh from the blue eyed, blue skinned monstrosity. His clawed hand came up and ran through the back of Leaf's hair. He gripped tightly, a clear threat even as he smiled without humor at her.

"I would not ask if I knew. Tell me. Tell me as if I was not there, as if I was not born until you created me."

That possibility frightened her more than she cared to admit. Enslaving the minds of their enemies had been one thing and it had always weighed on her conscience. But the idea that she may have created the intelligence before her, that he was not the First Man she and her kind had captured… the words spilled forth from Leaf's mouth as she regained strength bit by tiny bit the longer the torture was abated.

"You were the first."

That got a blink from the Night King.

"Yes, I know I was a First Man."

"No, you were the first of even them. You were the first to find a Weirwood and the first to try to cut one down for wood. The screams of the forest alerted us and we brought you to your knees with our magic swiftly. Then your companions arrived, armed with nothing more than axes in most cases. Yet they were so very numerous. We were forced to retreat that day, but not without our prisoner. Not without you."

The Night King was silent now, listening raptly as Leaf spilled long kept secrets that no longer mattered to any but her and the creature before her.

"We did not kill back then, not out of anger. We did not understand war. We knew death to be a part of life and we knew that all things went back to the Earth eventually. But we were not killers nor were we murderers. Not until your people made us like that. And before we became killers, we sought to keep our hands clean. We created you, the first of our weapons. Ultimately, neither you nor the ones that came after you were enough to stem the tide. Not even the Hammer of Water could do that and we used it twice to try to deter your kin."

Leaf let out a raspy laugh, remembering things that at the time had been horrifying. Nearly four thousand years later, they seemed almost comically ridiculous.

"You First Men. More numerous than all the trees in all our forests. More numerous than the blades of grass across the land. Your kind kept coming and nothing that you or the other White Walkers could do would stop it, not fully, not forever. And so in the end we sued for peace and rid ourselves of the reminder that we had turned to war by forcing you into slumber. At the time, we thought ourselves clever. I see now how foolish we all were."

The Night King seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding slowly.

"So then. I was the first of the First Men. Amusing in a way. I could lay claim to being the progenitor of every human on this continent and it would not be too far off. After all, I paved the way so to speak."

"You also killed countless in our names. You were not and are not their 'progenitor'. You are their darkness, their monster. You will always be the evil that lurks north of the Wall. You will always be their greatest enemy."

A pause, but rather than the anger Leaf hopes to see, there's only a slightly amused look on the Night King's face.

"Are you trying to provoke me Leaf?"

Was she truly that transparent now? Letting out a shudder, the Child decides to be bluntly honest.

"After all this time, death is preferable to a return to torture. I would welcome it. Please… end me."

Another pause and she finds a small ember of hope growing in her heart as the Night King seems to search her face and consider her request. It's snuffed out by the wicked smile that spreads across his features and the sharp shake of his head.

"No, I don't think I will. Instead…"

Her creation slides the hand he had in her hair down to her neck and grips. For a brief second, she thinks he's merely toying with her and is preparing to wring the life from her neck anyways. But he does not squeeze, he merely grips. And Leaf screams as he brands her with his mark right there on the spot. She can feel his icy magic reaching out and gripping her soul. She can feel the bond forcibly constructed between them.

He is not turning her into a White Walker. This will not give him dominion over her mind or her body. But it gives him a door, a door that he will hold the key to. He will be able to find her anywhere, he will be able to hear her thoughts if she is not careful to shield them. He will know her exact location every moment of every day.

In a word, it is a magical collar that he places around her neck. Once he's done, the Night King stands up and runs his hand through her chains, frosting them over and shattering them quite easily. Leaf is free but at the same time she knows she will never be free again, not with his mark on her. As a greenseer, there is the possibility that she could remove it, given time. She will not be given that time, she knows this.

Falling to her knees, Leaf breathes shallowly as the Night King observes her.

"I forgive you for what you did to me. Or perhaps I've merely forgotten enough that I no longer care. Cross me again and I will kill you in a heartbeat. I suppose if it is still death you want, then that merely think the thought and I will end you."

There's a long moment of silence as Leaf truly considers. Death up against the torture that she felt for nearly two hundred years? No contest. But death against potentially eternal servitude? Leaf could not bring herself to do it. She bowed her head and thought no malicious thoughts. The Night King chuckled.

"Good girl."

Leaf shuddered at that and squeezed her one remaining eye shut tight. Though she supposed given enough time, the second eye would regenerate. Her entire body would. But she would still be trapped beneath the blue handprint pressed to her neck. The Night King's mark held her close. Is this what she was to be? A pet? Better a pet then tortured… better a pet then dead.

Shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, the Child of the Forest slowly rose and moved to follow after the Night King as he allowed her to leave her prison for the first time in nearly two centuries. The thought caught the attention of her new Master and he amusingly reminded her mentally that his own imprisonment had been two thousand years of mental torture and two thousand years of forced slumber.

Leaf could not help but be abashed.

-x-X-x-

Only time would tell if I would need to rid myself of Leaf or not. As far as I knew, she was probably the last remaining Child of the Forest, and if she was not, the Andal invasion in around eighteen hundred years would ensure she was. Why not keep her alive as a novelty? A unique little thing, kept under my control.

The mark had been spur of the moment though; I could be honest about that at least with myself. I hadn't known what I wanted to do with her, going into that exchange. I'd simply been curious to have an answer to my question. The man I now inhabited, that I'd been… inserted into for lack of a better word, he had been the first. An auspicious honor turned horrifying by just what the Children had done to him for his ignorance.

Ah well, it was no skin off my back. While I still remembered all too vividly the pain and agony as Leaf dug that crude stone dagger into my heart, I had had enough time to move on. I'd never really been a vengeful guy to begin with, at least before I became the Night King. The Long Night was… uncharacteristic of me, least of all because I was actually a massive coward and I'd risked much by going south solely to eradicate the Children of the Forest where ever I could find them.

It'd worked out in the end though and now with Leaf at my side and Lyanna convinced that humans could not be trusted as equals, I was feeling pretty good about my "home" life. Time to get started on a bit of my "work" life. Stepping out of the cave where I'd kept Leaf imprisoned for two hundred years, I found my White Walkers and the Thenns and even Lyanna waiting for me. Though on Lyanna's part it was begrudging.

We were on… sort of speaking terms now? Improvement at least, in my slow, slow seduction of my she wolf Queen. The amusing thought brought a smile to my face as I regarded the five young Thenns in front of me. Two men, three women. All were essentially adults. All had completed their first hunt and the men had both killed predators as was custom. The women had taken down stags though, which was not custom. It had ultimately drawn my attention to them.

Coming to a stop before the five kneeling Free Folk, I spread my arms wide.

"My children. I have heard such good things about you all. You are the strongest, the bravest, and the smartest of your village. You are the best Thenns. The first of you, Rogund Thenn himself, tells me these things. He speaks highly of you."

Rogund stands off to the side and the five humans look to him for brief moments in awe before quickly turning their gazes back to the snow beneath their feet. I smile at the display of subservience. Still, for what I intend to have them do, mere displays are not enough. I must ensure actual loyalty.

"Rise, Chosen among the Thenns."

As they stand up, I move to the first of them. He does not look me in the eye until I take his chin in my hand and force him to. What I see there is devotion. But I must be sure. Tearing his clothing is easy and in moments his shoulder is bared to the freezing winds whipping against us. He shivers but stands firm even as my free hand comes down on his naked flesh and I mark him as my own, just as I did with Leaf.

There is pain but when I am done, the bond is formed and his mind is open to me. Unlike with my White Walkers or the reanimated dead, I cannot control his actions, nor can I crush his personality and turn him into a thrall. But thanks to a lack of training and thus protection, he has no defenses against me hearing his inner most thoughts. He is loyal, as loyal as he seems.

I smile and step away from him, allowing him to fix his furs as he shivers. My connection to the first is soon joined by three more as I go through the women as well and mark each of them in the same spot on their shoulder. One of them is like the man, loyal and devoted. The other two are similar, but their adoration for me is not entirely platonic. I consider returning their affections, but ultimately decide it is irrelevant. And in the same way that the pathetic crow on the Wall could not compare to me, these Free Folk in turn could not compare to my Lyanna. Humans… they were simply too weak to handle either of us.

Arriving at the final member of the group of five, I can see nervousness in his eyes, beyond that which I saw in his companions. More than that, there's something else. I tear his furs back a bit rougher than usual and mark him as my own. His mind is laid bare to me and I know immediately that he plans treachery, that he hopes to one day become King-Beyond-the-Wall after seeing the great host Joramun brought to the Thenn village.

This one is not loyal or faithful. He is selfish and ambitious for ambition's sake. I snap his neck without a second thought, drawing gasps from the four I'd already marked. Turning to look at the marked Thenns, I smile.

"Your loyalty and devotion to me are without question my children. His on the other hand was false. He was filled with greed, and where I intend for the four of you to go, there can be no greed, only patience."

One of the four speaks for the group, the woman who did not lust after me.

"We live to serve you your Grace. Where must we go?"

Grinning, I show off rows of my sharp teeth as I elaborate. The more I talk, the more understanding fills their gaze, along with trepidation. Understandable given what I will have these four and many more after them do. The marked Thenns before me are to venture south of the Wall. Thanks to my Lyanna's machinations, the Wall is in disarray and poorly manned for the first time since its founding. There is no Lord Commander for the moment and over half of the Night's Watch is dead, while the other half are imprisoned.

Brandon the Breaker's armies are not used to manning the Wall. My agents will have no trouble passing through it and once they do, their orders are clear. They are no longer Thenns; they are no longer Free Folk. These four are now kneelers, the first of many that I intend to send south. I may not be able to go beyond the Wall, trapped by greenseer magics as I am, but that does not mean my influence need stay limited as well.

With almost eight thousand years left before canon… there was a lot that I could to do with the right people in the right places at the right times.

Their orders given, the Thenns are escorted away by Rogund and a few other White Walkers. They will be helped south of the Wall and then they will be on their own. Through my bonds with them, I can feel fear and trepidation as expected. I can also feel eagerness and excitement. They are enthused to serve me and the chance at adventure has them doubly pleased to go.

It will be interesting to see how they do. I do not expect four Thenns to miraculously become successful infiltrators overnight. As… prototypes, these ones will allow me to work out the kinks in the system. Each new group will theoretically be better than the last. Almost as an afterthought, I snap my fingers and the fifth member rises, still dead but reanimated as a wight to serve. I send him off without looking in his direction, focused entirely on my four newest toys.

Too focused perhaps. I completely failed to notice the way Leaf's single eye widened at the sight of Lyanna. I did not pay attention when the last remaining Child of the Forest and my Queen left to have a private chat.

My distraction would quickly prove to be a detriment.

-x-X-x-

Watching the Night King mark the Thenns had been an… interesting experience. This plan of his, to send agents south of the Wall, well, Lyanna wasn't sure if it would work or not. She also wasn't entirely sure what his intentions would be in using them. She was considering asking him, when Leaf came up alongside her, big bulbous eye even wider than usual.

That was the other shock. The White Walker's forgiveness of the Child, or at least the clemency he was showing her was simply insane in Lyanna's eyes. Not that she fully minded. While she did not consider Leaf a friend, the Child had been a confidant and a source of support for over a century and a half now. So when Leaf touched her and spoke in a quiet tone, Lyanna listened.

"I must speak with you, in private."

She had no reason to refuse her and the Night King was staring off into space with a pleased smile on his face anyways. They left the freezing cold behind and moved inside a nearby hut of sorts, a place the Night King had had wights build for her when she'd demanded it. As soon as they were in relative privacy, Lyanna turned to Leaf, hoping to explain herself.

"I do apologize for my absence. I had to make an attempt at least. I went to the Wall, I sought out someone who could kill the Night King, just as you suggested. I was thwarted by men. My kin, free folk… the White Walkers did not have to even lift a finger to stop me. I'm not sure that humans are even worth saving anymore, not at the sacrifice of my own life. They would kill me as soon as look at me, despite my innocence."

Whatever response she expected from Leaf, whatever direction she was thinking this conversation would go, it was thoroughly shut down and derailed by the Child of the Forest's next words.

"You are pregnant."

Lyanna didn't understand at first. Her brow furrowed in confusion as her lips moved before her mind had even fully processed the words.

"What?"

Leaf was looking at her with disgust and dread and horror. The Child stepped forward and placed her hand on Lyanna's midriff, right atop her womb.

"You are pregnant Lyanna Stark."

The words finally hit her properly and whatever she might have said was choked off as she lost control of her motor functions. She almost fell down right there on the spot, but instead she stumbled back out of Leaf's reach and landed in a chair, her hand going to where the Child had touched.

"I-I'm… how?!"

Slowly, Leaf approached her. The short wood nymph shook her head back and forth.

"I do not know. It is impossible. This… horrifying abomination should never have been able to come into being. Walkers were not made to procreate. But then, neither were they made for independent thought. The Night King is different and so are you. But you are still monsters."

Lyanna was a tad hurt by that and it probably showed as she turned confused glowing blue eyes towards the Child, her hand never leaving her abdomen.

"What… what are you saying Leaf?"

"The Night King can never know and the child must never be born. You have to kill it. You have to kill yourself. There is… there is a dagger of dragonglass buried in the Night King's chest. It was part of the ritual used to create him and it remains even now. Pulling it out will not kill him, but that is good because you cannot kill him. You must go to him, seduce him, and drag the dagger from his chest. You must use it to end yourself and this abomination before he learns that he has impregnated you. You mu-hrrk!"

Lyanna had moved almost unconsciously, but suddenly she found herself leaning out of her chair, hand latched around Leaf's frail neck. She stared into the Child's bulging eye as Leaf scrambled uselessly at the tight grip.

"How can you… how can you ask that of me? How can you ask me to kill my child? How can you call me monster in one breath and in the next demand such horrific actions? You… you are evil! You are evil!"

Leaf continued to try to speak, continued to try to tear Lyanna's iron grip from her neck. Instead, the female White Walker snarled her rage and added her other hand to the first. She wrung the Child's neck, falling from her chair and pinning Leaf's smaller frail body to the ground as she shook her back and forth. Leaf's skull slammed into the floor again and again and a loud crack filled the air as Leaf's neck snapped.

But even with her death, Lyanna did not stop. The White Walker could not stop, burning hot rage filling her ice cold heart. She continued to strangle the corpse in her hands and beat its head back against the ground until it popped clean off, her grip having sheared right through the Child's spine. Leaf's head, bleeding profusely from the back where it was practically crushed inwards, rolled away from Lyanna and only then did the she wolf realize what she was doing, what she had done.

Lyanna choked back a sob as she stared down at the Child's headless corpse, but it was not for Leaf. She fell back on her haunches, sitting there and staring at the sight before her with swirling blue eyes. After a moment, she reached out across the ever present bond at the back of her mind. It was the first time she'd ever done so and the Night King reacted with surprise and then speed.

He arrived swiftly, yet at the same time walked into the hut at a casual, slow pace. He stopped and stared at what Lyanna had wrought. His silence made Lyanna feel guilt for the first time, like she'd done something wrong. She felt a desire to explain.

"I am pregnant."

Surprise. The Night King was surprised at her declaration. That was good, for some reason. Swallowing thickly, Lyanna gestured at Leaf's decapitated corpse.

"She advocated death. So I gave it to her… your Grace."

And now understanding. His acceptance washed over her and until that moment, Lyanna Stark did not know how much she had needed it. Slowly, he moved forward. At the same time, she found herself rising, turning to meet him and leaving the Child's corpse behind her. They met and for the first time, shared an embrace that was not violent or rough or sexual. The Night King held her close and Lyanna rested her head against his chest.

"You did well to protect our child my Queen. You did well. It seems time to set aside my games with the humans for a while. I will accelerate my plans for the palace."

That gave Lyanna pause. Her brow furrowed and she pulled back just enough to look the Night King in the eyes.

"Palace?"

He smiled back at her, a wicked little grin that contained no evil, merely humor and mischief.

"Our child will be a Prince or a Princess. Royalty must live how royalty lives. He or she should and will have the very best. Do you not agree?"

Lyanna suddenly found herself imagining it. With the forces at the Night King's command, she could envision what he could build and what she saw was glorious. Slowly, a smile of her own spread across her face. She nodded once in agreement with the man who had stolen her away nearly two centuries ago. Her mind couldn't be farther from the circumstances that had led her here though. No, Lyanna Stark could no longer afford to deal in the past. For her child, it was time to look to the future.

"I do my King. I do."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: And here's Chapter 7. Feedback is always appreciated.**

 **-x-X-x-**

Lyanna stared in wonder at what the Night King had created in less than a year. Her babes, born months prior, rested in the crook of each of her arms, swaddled in furs despite the cold having no effect on either of them. She'd been just as shocked as anyone to have twins, though she supposed with just how… ROUND she'd gotten, she should have seen it coming.

Regardless, with a baby boy and a baby girl to look after, Lyanna had been quite busy of late. She'd seen this a few months before when she could still walk around properly, but now…

"It's beautiful…"

The Palace that the Night King had promised lay before them. Made if ice and stone, it stood taller than anything she'd ever seen before save the Wall. It could have fit three Winterfells inside of it and it was twice the height of the tallest tree in the True North. The Night King stood beside her and grunted at her words, turning away from his long stare to face her and their children.

His furrowed brow and stern look melted at the sight of Rickar and Ayla. Lyanna was still surprised that he'd left naming the two to her. Admittedly, she hadn't expected it but given the chance, she'd certainly leapt at it. Even if she would never be welcome in Winterfell, ever again, Lyanna still wished for her children to know where they came from. She would always be Lyanna Stark in her heart and her children would be Starks as well.

It wasn't like their father had a name to go by… she'd asked him what he was called besides 'The Night King' and the damn fool had just stared at her blankly in silence for a moment before shrugging and offering to let her name HIM as well. Lyanna had not… for now. But if she could get away with it she definitely would have labeled him idiot and simply been done with it.

For a monstrosity, the Night King could be seriously thick at times. At others though… he was smiling softly now, reaching out and running his hands through the white tufts of hair atop their children's heads. Each was nursing, but at their father's touch they pulled away from her to stare at him with glowing blue eyes.

Even with her promise to look forward and never back, Lyanna thought about Leaf sometimes. She did not regret what she did though. Instead she found herself wondering how the despicable Child could ever see such beautiful innocent babies as abominations. Yes, her children had been born White Walkers… but that did not make them monsters and she would kill a thousand times over to defend them from any who would do them harm.

She suspected the Night King would too, judging by how taken he was with the babies. She held them so that he could play with them both for a brief moment, then he drew back and directed his attention towards her.

"I don't like it."

Lyanna blinked at what seemed like a non-sequitur. She'd completely forgotten what they'd been talking about before. Her confusion must have showed on her face because he gestured back at the amazing palace he'd built for them.

"This. I don't like this. It's not right."

Staring with wide, glowing blue eyes at what she considered to be the greatest structure she'd ever seen, Lyanna simply gaped and wondered what the actual hell WOULD be right then. But before she could voice that thought, the Night King continued.

"Still, it's livable. You and the children can stay there while I build another one. The Thenns can move in too as long as you're not against the idea. They'll make good servants I imagine and it'll help me grow their population if I can put their pregnant women and children inside something thicker than wooden huts."

"I… that's fine, yes, it's much too big for just me and the babes. But what's wrong with it my King?"

Lyanna was flabbergasted as the Night King turned to glare at his creation and whistled sharply. As he turned back and gave her an answer, the Army of the Dead came out of the woodworks, literally appearing from every direction, though most of them came from the other side of the Palace.

"It's not big enough. Not grandiose enough! I see where I made mistakes during the construction and now I want to fix them. But it'll be easier just to start from scratch."

Not big enough?! Lyanna gaped and looked between the hulking monstrosity of an Ice Palace and the White Walker who had impregnated her.

"Where?! Where will you build something bigger than this?!"

The Night King blinked at that and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll find a spot, preferably close by. The dead can clear the space for me. Not to worry my Queen, I'll make time for the children… and for you."

He waggled his eyebrows at her and Lyanna scowled, even as her frozen cheeks heated up ever so slightly. They weren't husband and wife and they certainly weren't in love… but there was a growing affection there that Lyanna would not have been able to explain even if she tried. Luckily, no one asked her and she remained in willful self-denial to her feelings for the being that had kidnapped her, stolen her humanity, and knocked her up.

It helped that that last one had left her with two bundles of joy, as cliché as that sounded. Letting out a sigh, Lyanna nodded.

"Fine. Go play castle-builder. And get it right this time. You can't just spend years building hulking structures all across the Land of Always Winter that are never going to see any use. That would be ridiculous."

The Night King chuckled and nodded.

"Agreed, what would be the point? One more Palace. This one will be perfect, I'm sure of it."

Lyanna nodded sharply and turned to look at the Palace before her, the one that was already massive, opulent, and probably would never be filled to capacity, even in a thousand-thousand years. She couldn't see anything wrong with this one, but that didn't stop her from throwing one more barb in the Night King's direction.

"It better be!"

Then she began walking forward, her babies still in her arms and a few White Walkers trailing along. Time to take a tour of their new accommodations. Behind her, the Night King took the Army of the Dead, most of them anyways, and headed off in a random direction towards his next build site. Sometimes she really didn't understand that man.

-x-X-x-

Isvir was the second King-Beyond-The Wall. That isn't to say Isvir was Joramun's son or heir or anything like that. While the Wildling revered the first King-Beyond-The-Wall and practically worshipped the ground that Joramun, Giant's Friend had walked on, he was in fact hundreds of years removed from the man's existence.

Joramun had ultimately died the same way he lived. Being a fucking badass. Ultimately though, the Wall had proven too much for Isvir's idol and the army that he led. Joramun had broken against that massive monstrosity, taller even then the structure that Isvir stood before now. And the Free Folk had broken with him for a time, fracturing back into groups and fighting amongst themselves once more.

All but the Thenns. The Thenns had… benefactors. It was an open secret in the True North that the White Walkers still roamed the land. Mothers told their children bedtime stories about the wandering dead in order to keep the more inquisitive ones from exploring alone. In truth, Isvir had seen both White Walkers and the dead. They did not attack unless provoked. It was… odd, to live with the nightmares of the past and have those nightmares pass you by without a care.

In the end though, the White Walkers weren't a threat to the Free Folk, nor were the walking dead. The real threat came instead from the Wall, where a Night's Watch revitalized and reinvigorated since the time of Joramun made annual rangings to kill any and all Wildlings they could find. Isvir assumed they did it to keep another King-Beyond-the-Wall from rising up with an army of Wildlings at his command.

Ironically enough, they'd instead galvanized one into existence. The crows had committed a great dishonor when they'd burned Isvir's village in the middle of the night. Not all of his people had died, but his parents had burned and his heart burned with them. The boy had become a man and with that raging, roaring fire in his chest, he had gone on to unite the Free Folk once more.

Now though, that fire was at its quietest, merely a few embers as Isvir swallowed thickly and looked up at the foreboding, massive fortress before him. His army at his back was the only thing that kept the King-Beyond-the-Wall from turning around and walking away with his head low and his tail between his legs. He had to stay strong… but he also knew he had to go it alone from this point on.

The Free Folk that were arrayed behind him had not agreed to follow him into the Maw of Death itself. None of them were interested in fighting the White Walkers. It was the Night's Watch they wanted. So, if he was to enter the hulking structure before him, it would be alone. The place looked dead, except for the two White Walkers that stood in dead silence at its gates. But then, they looked rather dead too, unmoving and frozen blue. Their glowing eyes stared out at the army before them and there was not an ounce of nervousness to be found in their stances.

They watched. They waited. It was time for Isvir to make his move. There was a rush of murmuring as the King-Beyond-the-Wall started forward, boots crunching through the snow and gloves hands curled into fists. He walked and he walked and finally he arrived at the doors. He looked at the White Walkers ostensibly guarding the entrance… and they turned their heads to stare at him.

Isvir froze up and was thankful that he had not eaten or drank anything for at least a day. It was what the legends said Joramun had done before treating with the Night King, and Isvir had tried to follow in the first King-Beyond-the-Wall's footsteps closely. He even had the legendary man's battle-axe strapped to his back. Not to use mind you, the thing was crumbling even now, but simply as proof of status. His preferred weapons were a pair of one handed axes that he kept strapped to his sides.

The White Walkers did not attack though. Instead, all on its own, the gate opened up and admitted him into the massive fortress before him. Though, in truth this wasn't even the largest one he'd heard about. Why the Night King was here, Isvir didn't know. But when he'd started to ask, this was where he and his army had been led.

The large palaces, fortresses, citadels, and towers that had randomly formed all over the True North for hundreds of years now were not something comprehensible. It was understood that the White Walkers were doing it, that the Night King was doing it, but the reason behind it was not known. And none of the Free Folk besides possibly the Thenns knew exactly how the Night King made the structures so fast. Isvir had a theory, but not one he wanted proven if he was being honest. Nobody had actually stumbled upon one of the massive castles being built quite yet and perhaps it was better it stay that way.

Still, each was reportedly as empty as this one. Isvir walked down a long hall, the two White Walkers that had been at the gate walking alongside him, directing him in a way. Thanks to their steady pace, he did not falter for fear of being left behind, nor did he stray, understanding that his destination was straight ahead. Letting out an explosive breath, Isvir could see a pair of wooden doors coming up in the distance.

As soon as he arrived before them, they swung open as well. He stepped into a strange place, filled with books and equipped with a fireplace and a… bed. The Night King was there, sitting at a table, looking down at the pages of a tome filled with runes and… eating? Isvir was completely flummoxed. The King-Beyond-the-Wall stared in silence at the greatest evil the world was supposed to have ever known. After a moment, the Night King looked up and stared back at him.

Isvir blinked first, finally looking away from those glowing blue eyes after a full minute of staring into their swirling, bottomless depths. He got a chuckle for his trouble and a chair scraped against stone as the Night King stood and stepped away from his surprisingly ordinary looking meal.

"Isvir of the Free Folk, King-Beyond-the-Wall. It's been quite a while since I've talked to one of those. Tell me, how is Joramun doing these days? Retired now I assume?"

"He's… he's dead your Grace."

That was another thing the legends said. You always addressed the Night King as "Your Grace" no matter who you were, no matter what titles you held. Joramun had supposedly done it, and now so did Isvir. The Night King looked pleased, while also slightly surprised.

"Dead? My, my. Time certainly does fly. And now here you are. Another King-Beyond-the-Wall, another army at my doorstep. Are you here to fight me Isvir?"

"No! N-No! Certainly not your Grace!"

"Good. That's very good. Then you're here to ask for my help. I'm not sure what I could possibly give you."

Isvir's eyes slid away from the Night King's feigned befuddlement for a brief second, to the horn that hung over the nearby fireplace. The King-Beyond-the-Wall was starting to think the Ancient Evil was fucking with him. He supposed if anyone could get away with that sort of thing, it would be the Night King. When he looked back at the White Walker, he saw those glowing blue eyes looking to the Horn of Winter as well before sliding back to him as the Night King's smile widened.

It was clear that he was waiting for Isvir to say it though. The nervous King-Beyond-the-Wall felt like a bit of an explanation was in order first though.

"T-The legends are clear your Grace. When Joramun besieged the Wall and slew the Thirteenth Commander of the Night's Watch, he did so with Giants. He succeeded with Giants. And a dozen years later when he tried to take the Wall again, he failed without Giants. Because with the death of the Thirteenth, his pact with you was completed and he returned the Horn of Winter as well as control of the Giants, back to you… your Grace."

The Night King stares for a long moment.

"Well now, that last bit isn't in the legends I've heard. Was Joramun not 'Giant's Friend'? Surely they wouldn't have abandoned him over some lousy horn."

Isvir swallowed thickly and licked his lips. The last bit, the idea of a pact between Joramun and the Night King, one that ended and led to the departure of the Giants from Joramun's army… it WAS entirely guess work. Isvir had come up with the theory all on his own and hadn't shared it with anyone until now. Still, he'd put one foot forward, might as well run the entire trek.

"I believe that Giant's Friend was a fabrication y-your Grace. I believe the Horn of Winter controls the Giants and he who holds it, holds their loyalty. That's why I need you to give it to me, so I can take my army and the Giants to the Wall and crush the Night's Watch and the Lord Commander that sits atop that bloody monstrosity."

A moment of silence and then the Night King chuckles.

"Ah, you are a clever one, aren't you Isvir? Full of fire too, I can tell. You want revenge. A word of advice? Revenge is best served cold, not hot."

Isvir didn't know how to respond to that so ultimately he just swallowed and nodded to show he'd heard and understood. The Night King snorted derisively and walked over to the fireplace. As he stepped closer to it, the fire guttered out and the wood logs that had a moment earlier been burning froze over. The Night King reached out and took the embossed horn from its resting place. When he turned back around, the room was noticeably dimmer than before. One of the only sources of light were those glowing blue eyes.

"Joramun did make a pact with me for my Giants. And when our pact was done, he returned the Horn of Winter as we agreed. If you wish to use this, if you wish to become 'Giant's Friend', you too will need to make a pact with me, King-Beyond-the-Wall."

The Night King's strangely jovial attitude was gone and in the suddenly cold, dark room, Isvir finally felt like he was facing down the Ancient Evil from the histories. Still, he needed the horn. And if Joramun could do it, if Joramun could treat with this creature… so could he.

"I will do it. I will make a pact with you your Grace. What… what did Joramun give you in return for the horn? What must I sacrifice?"

"What Joramun did for me, you cannot do again. However, there is something I want from you Isvir. There is something that only a man in your position can accomplish for me."

"A-and what is that?"

The Night King was only a few steps from him now. The horn was held in his clawed, blue hands as he smiled wickedly.

"There are those among the Free Folk who know how to write the runes of the old tongue. There are cave walls and parchment scrolls, detailing the period known as the Long Night. Tell me, do you know of the Long Night?"

Isvir could only nod jerkily.

"Of course you do. But you do not know the truth. We did not go south to destroy the world or to kill the First Men. The White Walkers descended from the Land of Always Winter for one purpose and one purpose only. We sought to kill the Children of the Forest and destroy their Weirwoods where ever we could find them. The First Men that died at our hand were the ones that got in the way and rose up against us while we completely our righteous and just task."

There was really only one response to something like that.

"What… what did the Children do to earn your wroth?"

It was the most pertinent information after all. Isvir so dearly did not want to anger this being. He did not want the Night King as an enemy. His question startled a bark of laughter from the White Walker.

"Nothing you could repeat, I assure you. The Children of the Forest did terrible things to me and my kind King-Beyond-the-Wall. But the worst they did to us? They created us."

This was not in any of the histories Isvir had been brought up on. This was not a legend he'd heard, nor a story he'd been told. The Free Folk knew nothing of this and his shock and disbelief must have shown on his face because the Night King's smile grew once again.

"Before I was this, before any of my people were this… we were First Men. I was the first of those First Men who arrived on Westeros. I was the first to attempt to cut down a Weirwood tree for wood with which to make fire and shelter. And for that crime, for my ignorance, the Children of the Forest captured me and turned me into this. They made me fight my own king for two thousand years Isvir. They locked all of us away for another two thousand and then when we finally broke free, they had the gall to paint us as the villains, using your ancestors as living shields against our justified wroth as we descended from the prison they made for us in the frozen wastes. The Children of the Forest were always the true evil of this world. But I feel confident in saying I ended their threat."

It was certainly a tale that changed everything, if it was true. But the authenticity of the Night King's words could not have been farther from Isvir's mind. Instead, he only cared about one thing.

"What… what would you have me do your Grace?"

"Is it not obvious? You are the King-Beyond-the-Wall. The Free Folk stand united behind you Isvir. In return for the horn and the loyalty of my Giants, all I ask is that you use your title to set the record straight. Fix the legends of the past, destroy the lies spread across cave walls and parchment scrolls. Explain to your elders that their oral histories are wrong and if they cannot change, cut their tongues from their skulls so that they at least cannot continue to spread their lies. Do this Isvir, promise me this, and I will give you the Horn of Winter and my Giants. You will have the force you need to march on the Wall and you will teach the Night's Watch a lesson that they will never forget."

Isvir's mouth is dry as he stares into swirling blue irises and the Night King stares right back. The second King-Beyond-the-Wall is no fool. He is clever and intelligent enough to see what the Night King wanted. Whether the story that the White Walker had spun was true or not, this would change the face of the Free Folk, if he did this. And yet… and yet there was nothing more important to Isvir than his revenge. He wondered if the being across from him knew this. He wondered if this immortal creature that had seen hundreds of years could also see into his heart.

It mattered not. Isvir nodded and spoke the words.

"I accept your pact your Grace. In return for the Giants and my revenge… it will be done."

The Night King's smile took on a distinctly predatory edge as he held out the Horn of Winter. Isvir took hold of the beautifully carved thing and swallowed thickly. And then the White Walker's hand was over his, sliding up his wrist and under his furs. Isvir howled, but as fast as the pain began, it ended. The Night King pulled back and Isvir looked down at his exposed wrist to see the mark of a blue hand print there.

"The deal is struck and the pact is sealed King-Beyond-the-Wall. My end is already fulfilled. Now it is time for yours."

Isvir couldn't help but feel like he'd made a terrible mistake, even as he covered up the Night King's mark on his wrist and clutched the Horn of Winter to his chest. A terrible mistake indeed.

-x-X-x-

After my meeting with the second King-Beyond-the-Wall, my conversion of the Free Folk progressed smoothly. Isvir went to the Wall and used his army in conjunction with the Giants to ascend to the forts, where he killed every crow he could get his hands on, including the Forty Second Lord Commander. Then he and his army had retreated as the Starks arrived along with half the North. The Free Folk melted into the True North and no ranging could locate them.

It was during this time of hiding and recuperating of losses that Isvir implemented his side of our bargain. Some had had to die in order to change history, but in the end it was done, my agents, both living and dead, confirmed it. By the time Isvir died, the story of the Long Night had changed dramatically. I considered making the second King-Beyond-the-Wall a White Walker before his death, but ultimately decided against it.

The kind of man who became King had too much ambition for my tastes. Instead, I kept the gift to my ever loyal Thenns for the moment, specifically their leaders. Just the right amount of ambition mixed with devotion and adoration. Still, the rest of the Free Folk weren't too far behind them in worshipping myself and the rest of the White Walkers as deities, over a century after Isvir's death.

Perhaps that's why I shouldn't have been surprised when I stepped into a room in the most lived in of my building projects, only to find my Queen having her way with a red haired Wildling she'd pinned to the floor.

I cleared my throat and the eyes of both women snapped towards me.

-x-X-x-

Kriyah wasn't sure how she'd ended up like this. On the floor beneath a female White Walker, getting kissed senseless and felt up. The creature's hands were everywhere and Kriyah had practically melted into a puddle of non-resistance ages ago. She should have been struggling, the Wildling knew that. Sure, White Walkers weren't that bad so long as you didn't provoke them, but as far as Kriyah knew, she HADN'T provoked this one.

… Unless bathing in a hot spring counted as provocation. That WAS where the White Walker had grabbed her from after all. Still, she'd never thought that she would be carried off by a woman, let alone one like this. The red head moaned as the White Walker, Lyanna she'd called herself, licked up and down the side of her neck. Kriyah was not doing good here. She was in one of the White Walker's palaces, pinned naked to the floor and a stunningly beautiful blue skinned babe was leaned over her, enjoying her immensely.

Whimpering, Kriyah gasped as she suddenly felt Lyanna's fingers betwixt her thighs. The White Walker was stepping up her game and in short order, Lyanna was fingering the red head to a quick climax. Kriyah tried to resist the pleasure as best she could. Who knew what happened if you let a White Walker bring you to orgasm? Would she lose her soul? Would Lyanna gain control over her mind?

She tried so hard to hold back the release, but when Lyanna seemed to realize this, the female White Walker grew frustrated and immediately redoubled her pace, while at the same time sliding her tongue down to Kriyah's chest, where the white haired female began to play with the Wildling's tits. The beautiful spearwife moaned and shook her fiery red hair back and forth in denial. She didn't… she didn't want it… she didn't want to cu-cumming!

Kriyah's eyes shot open as she climaxed hard. All her resistance was for naught, except to make the experience even more pleasurable when she finally lost control of herself and orgasmed all over Lyanna's hand. And yet she didn't feel any different. She hadn't lost her soul, as far as she could tell. The female White Walker above her smirked salaciously as she removed her fingers and brought them up to her mouth. With Lyanna licking Kriyah's pussy juices off of her hand right in front of her, the crimson haired Wildling was left to blush almost as deeply as her hair color at the sight. Her pussy was already growing moist yet again from this living sex goddess.

That's when both women heard a cleared throat and their gazes snapped to the open doorway where the Night King stood. Kriyah's green eyes widened dramatically, while Lyanna's narrowed into slits. The fiery red head abruptly wanted to be anywhere but here. A female White Walker was one thing. The Night King terrified her, even if the myths and legends explained his actions during the Long Night as righteous, if a bit callous.

Though he didn't look angry like she expected. Not even a scowl adorned his face as he lifted his brow and smiled at her and Lyanna.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Kriyah wasn't sure what she expected Lyanna's response to that to be. She knew for sure that she wasn't speaking up, so the female White Walker who'd kidnapped her and brought her here was definitely going to have to speak for both of them. The honeyed words that fell from the white haired, blue skinned woman's lips however, were not what Kriyah wanted to hear.

"You were interrupting the preparation of your gift my King. I was getting this one ready for later, to be shared in our bed."

There was a pause as Kriyah looked at the back of Lyanna's head in abject betrayal. It wasn't like she should have felt betrayed; honestly she should have expected something like this when the White Walker grabbed her from the hot spring in the first place. Still though, it stung a bit, to be reduced to a gift. Then the Night King laughed and broke Kriyah from her sudden bout of self-pity.

"If you want to take a spearwife for yourself, you don't need to make up such shoddy reasoning for why you did it Lyanna. Just fuck the girl and be done with it. Or keep her if she's worth keeping. I care not. Though I do recommend at the very least closing the door, if you do not want Rickar or Ayla to walk in on you like I have."

Lyanna's tone is a bit frosty as she responds. Meanwhile, Kriyah's head spins as she tries to keep up with what's going on.

"There was no danger of that my King. Rickar is off building a tower of his own in a bit of land you haven't already made a monument to your own ego on, while Ayla, in a fit of rebellion that is hundreds of years late, has settled with the Free Folk. They're either in awe of her, terrified of her, or both and its led her to believe they don't even know she's a White Walker. You might know these things, if you actually spent time with either of them."

Kriyah abruptly felt like she had ended up in the middle of something she didn't really want to be involved in. It was like being stuck between an old married couple… who also happened to be a pair of immortal, ageless, monstrous creatures that could kill her as quickly as they blinked. The red head squirmed a little beneath the female White Walker but without even looking, Lyanna snapped her hand out and grabbed Kriyah by her throat, drawing a whimper from the Wildling.

"Tell me how you really feel my Queen."

H-His QUEEN?! Kriyah WAS stuck between an old married couple! Fuck, this was the worst way this day could have gone! At least the Night King sounded more amused then angry as he stood there with a slight smile on his face. Lyanna's reply was rather acidic though.

"I'll SHOW you later tonight 'my King'. I may bring this one with me, I may not. It depends on how well she acquits herself."

That got outright laughter from the male White Walker, even as Kriyah whimpered and squirmed some more, valiantly managing to resist the urge to piss herself. Giving his Queen the last word, the Night King turned and walked away. Lyanna watched him go and then turned her piercing blue eyes back towards Kriyah. Green met blue for a brief moment and then Lyanna was sliding up Kriyah's body.

A pair of pussy lips descended upon Kriyah's face as a blue hand gripped her fiery red hair tightly.

"Lick."

The single command was all Kriyah had to hear in order to begin. Her tongue laced out and she ate the cunt of the White Walker holding her down rather inexpertly, but she ate it all the same.

-x-X-x-

Walking away from the suddenly very noisy room, I smile a bit. Having given Lyanna the option to bring the Wildling to our bed or not, I wash my hand of the matter. Though from the sound of things, the answer was going to be yes. I looked forward to it. I hadn't expected to see someone so close in appearance to the Ygritte I remembered from the show, this early in the world.

An ancestor, obviously, but still, the similarities were very nearly uncanny. Ah, I'd always had a weakness for red heads…

I'd leave it to Lyanna to make the decision though. I had other things I could be doing, in the end.

-x-X-x-

I stared in silence, my glowing blue eyes unmoving from the sight before me. By my side stood my only son, Rickar. By HIS side stood Jorlaf, current King-Beyond-the-Wall. These days, there was always a King-Beyond-the-Wall. It pissed off the Night's Watch and the Northerners to no end, but I'd grown tired of the disjointed and fractured Free Folk. So I'd made them a nation. Now, hundreds of years after the pact that Isvir had struck with me in exchange for the Horn, here we stood with a King-Beyond-the-Wall that worshipped White Walkers just as much as the Thenns.

Here we stood… right in front of something I had never expected to see.

"It's a canal."

That gets a confused look from Jorlaf, while Rickar looks quite smug with himself.

"Aye father, I built a canal."

I sigh and run my hand down my face in exasperation.

"You dug a canal between Antler River and Milkwater without my knowledge."

"Well, you were busy with that Castle up North father. We didn't want to disturb you."

"How?! How did you know to do this?"

"It was in one of your books father. One of your journals. I know you were rather dismissive of the idea, saying it was cliché and overdone, but it will allow the Free Folk to travel by water across the lands, from the Shivering Sea to the Bay of Ice. Surely you can see how useful that will be?"

I pressed my lips together tightly as I stared at the canal before me, filled with rushing water. To be honest, I wouldn't have known how to even start with such a project. I wasn't much of an engineer. It's why I'd always stuck to building structures… the bigger the better. Speaking of which…

"You built this with Free Folk alone?"

That got a chuckle from Rickar.

"Well, I couldn't exactly use the usual labor when you had them all tied up working on your Castle. Yes, this was a joint project between me and the Free Folk's King. Jorlaf did very well to rally his people for something besides another war against the Night's Watch."

At being mentioned, the King-Beyond-the-Wall coughed into his hand and nodded my way.

"Your Grace…"

It was to his credit that he didn't stammer or stutter. His predecessors had done both, far too much. I let out a sigh as I stare at the man-made waterway before me. I really hadn't planned to make any canals… but Rickar was right. It would be useful.

"Well done. Both of you."

My blue skinned son, far beyond the age of the much older looking man beside him, beamed like a child who had just gotten praise from their parent… which technically, he was but he also wasn't a child anymore and hadn't been for a long time. I… might need to give the centuries-old kid a bit more attention. Ayla was a free spirit and had taken to her mother better anyways, as cliché as it was, but it was clear that Rickar still yearned for my approval.

That could be fostered…

"Thank you your Grace!"

"I appreciate that father. I have some other projects planned out as well, if you'd like to take a look at them."

Of course he did. Letting out another sigh, I nod my head and gift my son with a smile.

"Very well, let's hear them. Though, there is one more thing before we depart."

I focus my attention on Jorlaf and the King-Beyond-the-Wall stiffens, standing up straighter as my glowing blue eyes fall on him. Pointing at the canal beside us, I make my desires clear.

"Build a bridge over this thing. Don't use wood, use stone. Rickar can help advise on the project, but I want the Free Folk to make this work mostly on their own. You've done well with the canal. Now build a nice, wide bridge so that people can cross without having to row a bloody boat every damn time."

"Yes your Grace! Right away!"

Hm. Good man this Jorlaf. He might just be the first King-Beyond-the-Wall to earn the transformation into White Walker. I liked the cut of his jib. Leading my son away from the canal, I couldn't help chuckling and shaking my head.

Fucking canals…

-x-X-x-

His name now was Ackon Stone. But before he'd arrived in the Vale his name had been Farrak. Farrak was a Chosen of the Night King and even now as he readied himself for the battle that was to come, he pressed his free hand against the position on his arm where the Night King's blue hand print lay. He sent his thoughts to his lord and master and he hoped that the God of Ice received them.

Farrak had only arrived south of the Wall five years ago, with nineteen other Chosen. They were the latest batch to be given the great honor of serving the Night King below the Wall. As soon as the group had made it past, they'd split off. Each had had their assignments, each had their missions. All lived to serve the Night King and his plans.

Somehow, the young wildling man did not think that this was part of the Night King's great design. Foreigners with fleets of ships and armies of bloodthirsty men had come to the shores of Westeros. They were unlike any men he'd ever seen before and Farrak was sure that today was his last day on this world. If all went well, the Night King would welcome him into his loving embrace and Farrak would be at peace there.

The ships were close now and the men on them disembarking. Archers fired behind him, but not enough. Never enough for the horde that now streamed across the beach towards their lines. Taking his hand from his arm, Farrak gripped his spear with both hands, heart beating in his chest. It was almost time. It was alm-

"CHARGE!"

There. Farrak moved with the rest of the men at his sides. He was not surrounded by worshippers of the Night King as he might have wished, but these were still men that he had broken bread with, laughed with, come to know over the last five years. The wildling infiltrator could only hope that the Night King would forgive him for not running, for not betraying these men. He could only hope that the information in his mind, given freely, would balance out the scales.

He had to fight and die on this beach with the men who had welcomed him and called him brother. His honor demanded it. As two armies clashed, Farrak found that his spear would not easily go through the glimmering metal armor that the enemy wore. He readjusted his aim immediately and struck at weak spots, but all around him the story was the same. The men of the Vale were not ready to fight against iron. How could they be?

The battle quickly became a slaughter and Farrak took a sword to his stomach that left him on the ground, slowly bleeding out. He was left staring up at the sky as his vision slowly faded. Even still, it was in those final moments before his death that Farrak felt the Night King's loving embrace. The God of Ice had heard him. The Night King had seen what he'd seen. At least… at least he knew.

Farrak, Chosen of the Night King, died with a smile on his face. And upon his death, the blue hand print on his arm faded away, the magic failing without a living host.

-x-X-x-

I contemplated what I'd just felt, even as a dozen of my hundreds of infiltrators across Westeros faced similar fates. Either death or capture, all at the hands of foreigners from across the ocean.

The Andals had arrived on Westeros. A slow smile spread across my face.

Perfect.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Tonight's chapter is a little shorter than the previous three because I've kind of been burning the candle at both ends, going to skeep at 5-6 am and waking up at 9-11 am. As such, I had a headache all day today... and still wrote an 8,000 word commission, a 2,100 word Patre0n Post... and then this.**

 **So yeah, time to try to go to bed a little earlier. Hopefully. We'll see.**

 **In other news, you guys like cliffhangers right? :P**

 **-x-X-x-**

The Andals invaded in the south and while I did have plans ruminating in the back of my mind, the majority of my focus was on something else entirely. This little event had a bit more ceremony to it then I'd originally intended, but I supposed in the end it was unavoidable. I stood there, looking down at the snow-covered tree surrounded by hand-carved stones.

At my sides stood Lyanna and my two children. Behind them stood every White Walker that currently walked the North. Both the intelligent and the unintelligent. Lyanna's little red haired wildling had ultimately ended up being turned. She'd taken more of a liking to the girl then I'd first expected, but given we all shared each other's beds more often than not, I wasn't that offended. Kriyah, I think her name was. Rogund and Jorlaf were there as well, and a dozen more Thenn leaders besides.

I didn't bother trying to recall names most of the time. If it was important, I could simply reach out and snag the identity of whichever White Walker I was talking to at any given moment. The only ones that truly mattered were Lyanna, Rickar, and Ayla, though of course none of the others knew that. I was their benevolent Night King, the being who had lifted them up and given them immortal life.

The need to crush their minds and ensure their obedience to me had never existed. If it did though, I could do it in a heartbeat amusingly enough. I could do it with all but Rickar and Ayla. My two children were not bound to me in the same way that the others were. I suppose that made them a weakness. But I had plenty of weaknesses already, in the form of dragonglass and Valyrian steel and dragon fire.

It felt appropriate to have weaknesses closer to my heart as well. Honestly though, I was actually a bit surprised Ayla had even shown up. The child, if one could call a woman millennia old a child, was wild, just as her mother had once been. Just as I was beginning to suspect all Stark women were, when they weren't tainted by Tully blood and raised by Tully women. Hell, even then both Arya and Sansa had ultimately acquitted themselves as Starks quite well in the show from what I remembered. Even if it had taken Sansa longer than Arya and even if it had cost Arya so damn much.

Bah, irrelevant. I was letting my mind wander on purpose. Even after all this time, was I truly this scared of this spot? My lips pressed tightly together in the beginning of a snarl, I stared down at the snow-covered tree surrounded by rounded, snow-covered stones.

"Father, I-."

That was Rickar and as soon as he attempted to speak, I snapped my hand up and closed it into a fist. The air around the tree and stones suddenly cleared up, the icy winds disappearing first. Then the snow stopped falling and the clouds overhead fled the scene. It was a move I'd used before, many times over now. It allowed me to give the Free Folk much needed sunlight ever since they'd started farming instead of simply raiding.

I'd created a culture without truly meaning to, one far different from the canon I remembered. Whoops. Either way, what mattered now was what was right in front of me. The snow melted away and the sun shone down on a leaf-less Weirwood tree, surrounded by stones carved with ancient ruins. I could not completely recreate the scene of course. Not only was the ground still dead, no grass growing from it regardless of my removal of the snow, I did not have Children of the Forest to place in a tight scheming circle. Nor did I have a First Man to tie to the tree itself so I could stick a dagger in his heart.

"So this is where it all began."

Lyanna's fingers touched my remaining hand, curled into a fist as it was at my side. I slowly loosened it until she could slip her own hand in and hold onto me. My other hand remained a fist though, pointed towards the Weirwood and the stones. Rickar and Ayla still stood behind us, but now Lyanna was next to me, staring with her own glowing, swirling eyes at the sight of my murder and resurrection.

"Yes. This is where she did it. Where they did it. This is where I was created."

A moment of silence as the White Walkers with intelligence digested this news. Only my immediate family had known why I'd saved this Weirwood for last after all. Here, Rickar stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. He was a good son. I'd been sure to nurture that, to create a bond between us and to raise him to my way of thinking. He wasn't a good man, but then he wasn't a man at all. And he WAS a good son.

"Father… this is the last Weirwood north of the Wall. All the others are destroyed, just as you bade. Shall I order this one removed as well?"

I stare at the site of what is essentially my birth into this world for a long moment more. Then, I shake my head.

"No."

My hand opens and then twists to the side. One of the carved stones, one of the last remnants of the Children of the Forest, suddenly cracks as it freezes solid and breaks apart from the inside out.

"It's best if I do this myself."

Lyanna holds onto my hand the entire time. Rickar keeps his grip on my shoulder. Ayla and the rest stand in silence. One after another, the stones crack and crumble from within. One after another, they become so much rubble beneath the final Weirwood tree beyond the Wall. I couldn't really explain how it is I did what I did.

My control over the forces of cold was so absolute that I didn't need to understand what I was doing. All I had to do was make my intent clear, and results would follow. Like grabbing something or breathing or walking. One did not have to understand how their body and their muscles and their brain worked to do these things. They just did.

And so did I. Eventually, it was just the Weirwood tree left in a field of stone pieces. Now I slipped free of Rickar and Lyanna. They let me go as I moved closer to the Weirwood. A heart tree, I suppose it's called if I want to be accurate. The Children of the Forest had carved faces onto the tress at the center of their godswoods. And yet, this heart tree stood alone, surrounded by nothing but stones.

There were no others like it in all of the True North. Every Weirwood I'd seen burned the last two thousand years had been surrounded by more of its kind, true godswoods dotting the Haunted Forest and what not. The Free Folk had worshipped them and as a result I had been forced to leave them alone at first. But with Isvir's pact, the Free Folk had turned to worship ME and then the godswoods had become fair game.

I'd left this one for last though. I'd saved this destruction for myself. It was important that I do this, important that I take responsibility. Finally arriving at the face carved into the heart tree, I splayed my fingers wide and pressed my palm into its 'brow'. There was the faintest of stirrings, as if the greenseer magic that had once permeated these lands was not truly dead, merely asleep.

I could feel it rising up to meet me. Did it think me a long lost kin, simply because this was where I had been birthed? Did the heart tree view me as a savior to bring it back from the brink of a cold death? Probably not, but the thought that it might amused me all the same. I did not wait to find out the intentions of that flicker of magic. Instead, I channeled my own magic directly into the Weirwood before me. Direct contact was definitely best. The effects were immediate this way.

I felt something akin to a scream as I snuffed out the spark of magic still in the tree. Then, there was only silence save for the cracking as the Weirwood frozen from the inside out just like the stones had. Slowly but surely, the great tree turned frost and when I drew my hand back and pulled my fingers together, it bended towards me, the ice it had become obeying MY will.

With a roar on my lips, I thrust my entire arm forward through the tree, and it exploded out from me. The entire Weirwood shattered into a million frozen wood chunks, spraying out in a conical pattern for at least a hundred feet from the ferocity I had channeled into my magical blow. There was nothing left but stump and roots, but I was not content to leave even those, frozen to the last bit as they were.

Lifting up my arms, I pulled and the iced Weirwood stump answered. Every last inch of the thing tore free from the ground, roots and all. I spun it in the air for a moment, admiring it. Then I blasted that apart too. There was nothing left when I finally turned and walked away, back through the frozen rubble left behind by the destroyed stones.

Lyanna and Rickar greeted me in silence, but it was Ayla that ultimately surprised me, running right past both of them to slam into my chest and hug me tight. I blinked dumbly, having never been quite as close as I wanted to be to my only daughter. Slowly, I closed my arms around her, brow furrowed as I tried to figure out what exactly had affected her so. I failed in that though. Women, even now I did not understand them.

Ayla clung to my like a limpet the rest of the day, as I took Lyanna and Rickar and the rest of my White Walkers and we had ourselves a little… celebration. The True End of the Children in the True North. It was certainly cause for a party. But even still, there were more godswoods out there, south of the Wall. The Andals would destroy many of them for me thankfully, but the Northerners would push the Andals back. This was good for my plans, but it would still leave Weirwoods dotting the North for the time being.

I would fix that, one day.

-x-X-x-

The Night's Watch had been in decline for a while. It shouldn't have been. The threat of the Wildlings had never been greater. The rest of Westeros should have been there to answer the call. The problem was that the Wildlings were proving to be a contradiction these days. They no longer gathered to attack the Wall, but they still gathered. The Night's Watch's yearly rangings had turned into slaughters, not of the Free Folk as before, but of the men who served on the Wall.

The Lord Commander of five centuries prior had been forced to end the yearly rangings, but the damage had already been done. Too many spares, too many second and third and fourth sons of Lords and Kings had died in service to the Night's Watch. The honor and prestige of the Wall died with those scores of men and ultimately the Wall became the place you were sent to die, rather than a place of glory and solemn duty.

Westeros had stopped sending its best to the Wall. Instead it began to send throwaways. Not quite the thieves and rapists and murders that it would send in around six thousand years at least. No, the Night's Watch was still considered too important for that. Instead, Lords and Kings and even Smallfolk sent their bastards to the Wall, to take the Black and to serve rather than cause problems down south.

The problem was… this only served the Free Folks' plans. How could they know that though? How could they know that hiding amongst bastards made for the perfect camouflage?

A small gate on the southern side of the Wall slid open and out into the snow walked a group of ten crows and five trainees. They walked for an hour in complete and utter silence, before eventually arriving in a godswood. The crows gathered around the godswood's heart tree and the five who had yet to take their vows fell to their knees before the Weirwood's carved face. Everything was silent for a moment, and then the five began to speak in unison.

"Hear my words and bear witness to my vow."

"Night gathers and now my Watch begins. It shall not end until my death."

"I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post."

"I am the Sword in the Darkness. I am the Watcher on the Wall."

"I am the Fire that burns against the Cold, the Light that brings the Dawn, the Horn that wakes the Sleepers and the Shield that guards the Realms of Men."

"I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch for this night and all the nights to come."

There is a pause as the five trainees complete their oaths. A sense of finality hangs in the air, before the highest ranking crow grunts and speaks.

"Rise, brothers of the Night's Watch."

The five young men, ostensibly all bastards, do so, smiles on their faces that are matched by their older more experienced brothers. There is handshaking and back claps and even some completely heterosexual hugging as those who were before welcome those who are now into the Watch. The Night's Watch and the Wall are now five stronger, and all are happy for that, regardless of where these five have come from or the circumstances of their birth.

The group, now fifteen crows strong with no 'trainees' among them, heads back to the Wall. There, they have a feast and the five newest members of the Night's Watch are the focus of that feast. The current Lord Commander watches from his table with a smile on his face but a tired weariness in his eyes. The man is growing older and he knows he will not be Lord Commander for much longer. He also knows from the journals of his predecessors that there was a time when a hundred trainees would range out to the godswood to take their oaths together.

The Night's Watch is diminished, yet as the Lord Commander stares down upon these five newest brothers, he feels a flicker of hope in his breast. He wants to believe that these men are capable, that these men are each worth a hundred of the crows of old. They all acquitted themselves well in training. Arriving to the Watch with skill in all manner of weapons before their time out in the yard could even begin. Sword, spear, axe, bow… the Lord Commander wondered if those in the south had finally reached the point where they were quite literally raising their bastards from birth to go and take the Black.

But no, that probably wasn't true, given just what the South was facing now. Foreigners from across the sea landing all across Westeros. The aging Lord Commander was almost grateful that the Night's Watch did not interfere in the affairs of the Realms of Men. It was not his place to ride south to defend against these invaders and if by chance they did manage to conquer all the lands that lay beneath the Wall, the Lord Commander could only hope that these foreigners were not quite as savage as the Free Folk. If they could be reasoned with, then they would accept the Night's Watch and the Wall as necessities both.

If they could be reasoned with…

The feast eventually ended and as night fell over the Wall, the five newest brothers were assigned to guard atop the massive structure, a time honored tradition. All five were glad for it, happy to be alone with one another. All five stood on top of the gigantic barrier that held back the True North and looked out upon the Haunted Forest.

Each of them reached out and pressed a gloved hand to the same place on their covered arms. Each luxuriated in the feel of their God as he reached back to them, wrapping them in his warm embrace and praising their success. Beneath the black cloaks of crows that they all wore, the five Chosen felt the icy touch of the glowing blue mark that lay on their skin and smiled.

-x-X-x-

I felt how pleased each of the five men were and a smile of my own stretched across my face. It had taken quite a long time, but finally the crows were weak enough to be susceptible to infiltration. It was far too early for the Night's Watch to be in decline of course. I suspected that that was my fault. Whether Isvir, the second King-Beyond-the-Wall would have existed without me or not, whether he would have attacked the Wall without me or not… I highly doubt he would have found giants to attack it with, if it were not for me.

Isvir's taking of the Wall was legend for the Free Folk, and I suspect it was a black mark on the Night's Watch's record that they would have liked to forget just as much as their Thirteenth Lord Commander and HIS actions. Isvir and his army had successfully besieged the Wall, stormed all the way to the top of the massive structure, and killed half the Watch including the current Lord Commander of the time before they'd been repelled.

Though truthfully, I suspected that Isvir hadn't been so much as repelled as he'd decided that his vengeance was sated and pulled his army back before the North could arrive to defend the Watch. The Wall had been proven to be beatable and the Night's Watch had lost prestige from the event, especially when no ranging could gain them the retribution that they sought.

Things had only gotten worse for the Watch from there, as the next several centuries proved to be either quiet or disastrous for the organization that sat atop the Wall. The Free Folk no longer attacked the Wall, but if the Night's Watch ranged, the ranging was slaughtered no matter how big they made it. As such, the rangings had had to end and the Night's Watch had ended up truly becoming the Watchers on the Wall that they claimed to be, powerless and impotent in the face of their own inadequacy.

Now here I was, standing beneath the Wall, my hand reaching out to barely touch the magical barrier that kept me from going any further south. My Chosen did not know how close I truly was to them, even if they were over seven hundred feet above me. I stood in the tunnel that they themselves had used to go from beyond the Wall to below it.

There were several such tunnels that connected the North and the True North at this point. The Night's Watch was not in a position to ferret out these secret paths, not anymore. And the Wildlings did not use the tunnels for invasion, so neither the North nor the Night's Watch had any reason to suspect they were there. After all, would the Free Folk not invade if they could?

In actuality, of course not. They'd been in a position to invade Westeros for hundreds of years now under my guidance and stewardship. They did not because I did not wish them to. Instead, they infiltrated and that was how I now had five Chosen inducted into the Night's Watch. It was how I now stood beneath the Wall, testing the limits of the Children's magic.

Reaching out yet again, I pressed the very tip of my finger to the barrier I could not see but could definitely feel before me. My finger smoked and I withdrew it before it could catch aflame. A smile spread across my face nonetheless. I did not try to physically touch the magic again after that. I settled back on my heels, lifted my arms, and felt the last great work of the greenseers with my own magic instead.

As far as I could understand it, it was a work of art to my senses. An interlacing array of barriers laid into the very foundation of the Wall itself. The power still thrummed within the Wall, strong, far stronger than the spark of life I'd found in that last remaining heart tree up north. Yet even as the greenseer's magic hummed all around me, I knew that I could do something about it.

I had long suspected that I could. In the TV show, the Night King had used one of Daenerys' dragons to burn down the Wall with some sort of icy fire breath. It'd made for a great scene, but I remembered watching a commentary after the fact. One of the commentators had made a joke about the Night King waiting eight thousand years for someone to bring a dragon north of the Wall so that he could kill it and resurrect it for that purpose.

I remembered agreeing with the fact that that was ludicrous. There'd been a slight fear that the writers were just that stupid, but now as I stood here beneath the Wall, feeling out the magic that was tied to it, I found my theory vindicated. The ice dragon in the show had merely made the Night King's life easier. He had not marched south solely because he thought one would finally show up, he'd simply taken advantage of the fact when one DID.

Reaching out with my senses, I brought my arms up in front of my body, holding out my open hands. This, I imagined, was what the Night King had originally had in mind. This was the reason that he had gathered up an army of the dead, a distraction to any defending the Wall when he finally had to work his magic.

I grasped the framework of the Children's magic with my mind. My fingers curling back into gripping, tearing claws as I did so to help me visualize it properly.

Once I was sure I had it, my focus and strength against the ancient magic of a long dead race, I gritted my teeth.

And then I _pulled._


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Next chapter might be a full on Rickar Interlude, or it might just be Rickar scenes intermixed with True North scenes as usual. I haven't decided yet.**

 **Feedback is immensely appreciated!**

 **-x-X-x-**

I pulled and of course the greenseer magic resisted. But I did not let that stop me. While there was so very much power still laid into the foundations of the magnificent seven hundred foot tall Wall over my head, it lacked one very important thing. It lacked an intelligence, a will of its own to defend itself with. I was not fighting another man, another sapient being. And I was not simply wailing against an immovable stone like a child.

My fingers moved and my magic moved with them, slipping into cracks here and there, bringing with it the frost and the cold and the winter. I widened the cracks, I gripped down on the Children of the Forest's last great act… and I simply pulled. The Wall's magic did not come away quickly. It did not disintegrate or tear apart all at once.

Instead I had to work my way in and take it apart bit by bit. This was more than likely a good thing. I could feel the rumbling all around me as I did my work. I was causing a localized earthquake all along the Wall. There would be damage and there would be deaths. Hopefully my Chosen would manage to keep themselves safe.

It did not matter. I moved slowly and because of this, the Wall did not come down atop my head. It would have been a pain to dig myself out of such a thing. Instead, the magic came away in metaphysical inches, sliding off of the greater spell in fragments. Piece by piece, I shredded the greenseer magic and piece by piece, those shreds, those remnants, they joined with my power.

That was after all, the greatest strength of the White Walkers. It manifested itself in the army of the dead most notably, but here it was just as useful. A White Walker takes a man's strength and adds it to their own. Usually in death, as a corpse becomes yet another soldier in the army of the dead. Now though, the same effect was applying itself. The greenseer magic came away and then turned on what was left of itself, working alongside my own magic, suborned by my own magic, controlled by my own magic.

As I destroyed the Wall's magic and consumed it, I grew more powerful. It wasn't something I'd expected, but ultimately the absorption also wasn't something that I was going to try and stop or avoid. I worked and worked and worked, until finally, it was done. My hands closed into fists and my arms fell to my sides. The great rumbling over my head stopped as the land and the Wall settled down.

In my mind's eye, I knew that it had worked, but admittedly, there was no physical evidence of what I had just done. All looked the same in the tunnel as when I had begun, though there were a few fragments of rock across the tunnel floor. I was probably lucky that the whole thing hadn't collapsed on me, even if the Wall itself was in no danger of doing so.

Still, that wasn't where my mind was at. My attention was focused on my hand as I lifted it up and slid it forward. Where before, my fingertips had begun to smoke from the Children's last act of defiance, nothing happened now. I stepped forward, placing my entire arm and then my torso and finally the rest of my body through the space where the magical barrier had once stood.

It was gone, but then I'd already known that. Still, to think that I'd just ended the imprisonment of the White Walkers just under six thousand years earlier… it was an amusing thought. I looked down the length of the dark, dimly lit tunnel, towards the direction of the south where the rest of Westeros lay. I looked… and then I turned around and walked away. An uneasy quiet lay in my wake.

-x-X-x-

To say something was wrong would have been an understatement. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch knew something was wrong. The damn Wall had shook for seven days and seven nights. An entire week had passed of constant tremors, never ending, never ceasing. Until suddenly, they had. Not before more than a few brothers of the Watch had fallen from on top of the Wall. Not before a couple of the older castles had taken structural damage.

From the reports the Lord Commander had been given, the Wall itself had experienced no visible damage. The great barrier that served as the Night's Watch's greatest tool against their enemies beyond it still stood and in the end that was all that really mattered. And yet… something was still wrong. It was as if there was this thing, a thing that had been there, invisible and unnoticed.

The Lord Commander knew from the looks he saw on the faces of his men that he wasn't the only one who felt it. A loss that they could not place permeated through every brother of the Night's Watch, every man on the Wall. It was as if they'd all been hearing a song in the far backs of their minds for many a year, only for it to be abruptly snuffed out.

Background noise, abruptly no more. It bothered the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch immensely. He was growing old and he did not know what to do in this situation. He could not range north of the Wall for that would spell certain doom for any brothers who did so. He could not go south of the Wall for aid, because foreigners had invaded Westeros and the North rallied to face them at the Neck.

The elderly Lord Commander sat in the great hall with the rest of the Night's Watch, ostensibly to have a small victory feast now that the tremors had stopped. A celebration had seemed in order, even if none felt like celebrating. As the old man looked out over the hall at a seat of black cloaks and furs, he let out a slow, frosty breath.

His Watch would end soon. He could only hope that his brothers would be ready to carry on without him when the time came. It was the duty of every Lord Commander to leave the Night's Watch better than they had found it and in a position to continue once they were gone. It was to his shame that the Night's Watch had declined in the time since he'd taken his vows. It was his curse to not know if his men would be able to continue properly without him once he was gone.

-x-X-x-

Rickar frowned as his father walked out of the tunnel. He stood with mother and Ayla at his sides and when the Night King looked up and saw them, he seemed surprised. It was Lyanna who spoke for them as she stepped forward, her tone frosty and short.

"What did you do?"

Father looked at them all blankly for a long moment.

"How did you three know where to find me? How did you all get here so swiftly?"

"Father, you were gone for a week! We were able to follow you here easily once your absence was noted."

Another surprised blink from his father, even as Lyanna shot him a look for speaking out of turn. Rickar gave his mother an apologetic look, but could not bring himself to fully back down. He needed to be a part of this, especially if there was something wrong with father.

"A week? Truly? It felt like an hour at most. Huh."

A growl left Lyanna's throat and she stalked forward to plant a finger in the Night King's chest.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

Rickar shut up at that point. Speaking out now when his mother was like this was never a good idea. Of course, his father always seemed to ignore her anger in a way that no one else could. The male White Walker just smiled and gestured back towards the Wall.

"I destroyed it. The barrier penning us in, it's gone now."

Lyanna gasped while Rickar and Ayla exchanged incredulous glances before looking up at the gigantic structure still standing before them. Rickar spoke for himself and his sister.

"The Wall still stands Father."

That got a laugh, but not from their father. Instead, it was Lyanna who let out a startled burst of laughter as she turned to their children, a wide smile on her face.

"The Wall is not what held us back my son. The Wall is… was simply the representation of the Children's Magic. The greenseers worked alongside Brandon the Builder to place magic on the foundation of the Wall when it was still being built, a magical barrier that would keep any White Walkers from crossing. That is what your father has destroyed. Isn't it my King?"

Rickar had never heard his mother sound so worshipful of his father. The Night King looked a bit surprised too by the husky tone in Lyanna's voice.

"Indeed my Queen. Though… not in front of the children."

Lyanna glanced back at them and only then did Rickar realize what he was seeing. An almost-intimate moment between his mother and father. The young-by-comparison White Walker blushed a bit and Lyanna let loose a throaty chuckle… then her entire attitude did a one eighty as she suddenly spun on the Night King with wild eyes.

"… Why did you destroy this barrier now? What are you planning? Is this… are we beginning another Long Night?"

Rickar stiffened and Ayla did the same beside him. Both of them knew of the Long Night, even if they had not been told the specifics of what exactly stopped them from going south of the Wall. They knew the circumstances of their mother's kidnapping and the fact that father had gone south, very, very far south in order to slaughter the Children of the Forest where ever he and his forces could find them.

Truth be told, Rickar was not that attached to the humans… they were useful and he liked the ones that lived beyond the Wall as they were obedient and subservient, but if father DID want to lead another Long Night south and kill the rest, Rickar wouldn't truly mind. Ayla on the other hand…

"Father! You would not dare!"

Ayla loved humans. Even if she loved Free Folk most of all, she still had a soft spot for the short lived creatures. Rickar rolled his eyes as his sister moved to join their mother in glaring their blinking father down. Rickar prepared to take his father's side if it proved to be necessary, but the Night King just shrugged.

"I have no desire to invade south of the Wall my dears, none whatsoever. The Long Night was my revenge on the Children as I've always said. The humans are my descendants, Lyanna's descendants. I wish them no ill will, even if I would love dearly to go and destroy the godswoods that they all still pray to. No, I did not destroy the barrier for myself. I did it for you."

He looks to Rickar when he says that, surprising all three of them. Blinking dumbly, Rickar steps forward and cocks his head to the side.

"Me, father?"

The Night King nods, casting a glance towards both Ayla and Lyanna.

"Though of course, the two of you may utilize this gift as you like as well. But I suspect Ayla is happy with her Free Folk friends. Lyanna, you have seemed content with your toys as well. It is Rickar that I have worried for. The boy has yet to bed a woman. Or hell! Even a man!"

And now Rickar was blushing deeply, even as both his mother and sister turned to regard him with considering looks on their faces.

"F-Father!"

"It's not right son, you hear me? Sex is one of the greatest joys in this world! Your mother certainly knows that and your sister does as well! But you with all your projects… you need to get laid!"

Even as his sister sputters at being called out by their father for her promiscuousness, Rickar is left speechless by the Night King's words. And then his mother betrays him as well.

"You're not wrong my King… still, why can he not find such pleasures here in the True North?"

"Given he's had a few centuries now, I'd say he isn't going to find a bride up here my Queen. I'm sure there's someone out there for him, and I suspect he'll find her in the south. Given the war and the fact that your family and their bannermen are focused entirely on preparing to meet the Andals, this is the perfect time for him to go on a little expedition."

His mother looks half-convinced already while inside, Rickar is dying of embarrassment. His sister is no help, she's subsided into standing hunched over, arms crossed over her chest and glares directed at anyone or anything that so much as glances in her direction.

"… It will not be safe for him. Even with the focus on their southern border, if they see him they will try to kill him."

"It will certainly be dangerous, but over eighteen centuries have passed since they last received a report of a White Walker. I strongly suspect that the men of the North no longer carry dragonglass daggers at their waists. The things are weak and brittle if used on anything BUT us and our wights. Speaking of which, I figured I'd send a portion of the army with him as well. Wights can blend in with surroundings much better than living men can and he knows how to control them well by now."

Rickar seriously could not believe this was happening. Especially when, as if summoned by his father's words (they probably were, damn it) wights began to spill out of the woods around them, assembling around the family of four. Rickar could feel his father reaching out and handing him the mental reins so to speak of the small force of reanimated corpses. Begrudgingly, Rickar took it before looking to his mother, hoping she'd ultimately come down against the idea. Instead he found her looking at him intently.

"… I do want grandchildren and Ayla has yet to run into a man she considers worthy of ascension. Rickar… go south for mommy and find yourself a woman you can spend the rest of your life with, all right? Your father will turn her when you get back and then you can see about putting a baby or two in that belly of hers."

… This was not a conversation Rickar had ever wanted to have with his mother. Rather than argue further however, he ducked his head and agreed, wanting the humiliating moment to end. It did with his agreement thankfully, and the next thing the White Walker knew, he was being guided down the tunnel by his father. The Night King had an arm around his shoulder and a squadron of corpses was shambling along behind them as they walked.

"Now, I do want you to pick up some things from my Chosen while you're down there all right? When the time comes, I'll let you feel them and you can either send the packages back with a couple wights or you can hand deliver them to me yourself when you return. Don't feel like you have to make a choice and come back quickly though. Take your time Rickar, sample the local cuisine… and maybe try some of their food as well."

Rickar blushed yet again at the innuendo and then scowled when his father laughed and clapped him on the back. Desperate to change the topic, the White Walker focused instead on the other part of what the Night King had said.

"These packages… what are they father?"

Here, the Night King grinned, stopping in the middle of the tunnel and clasping his hands on Rickar's shoulders, turning him so that they were facing each other.

"Knowledge my son, knowledge! I know how much you like my journals. You're quite the reader aren't you? Just like me, once upon a time. My Chosen have gathered information on these foreigners. They fight unlike anything the First Men have ever faced, with weapons and armor and other items that the First Men have never seen. Their secrets already belong to us; they just don't know it yet. My Chosen will rendezvous with you in the North and give you what knowledge has been gathered so far. Then, once you've returned with the woman you intend to make your wife and you've done the deed a few times to satisfy your mother, you can start pouring over the information alright?"

For the first time since this whole affair had begun, Rickar actually felt a little excited. His glowing blue eyes had gone wide the second his father had started talking about foreign knowledge and unknown secrets. Grinning widely, the young White Walker nodded.

"Alright father. You can count on me."

The Night King just chuckled at that.

"I know I can my son. You're my own flesh and blood. I've always been able to count on you. That said… I must warn you not to come back without a bride, I may not care so much about it, but your mother is quite enamored by the idea now… I would hate for her to turn you right back around because you've returned without a woman."

Rickar winced at the idea, remembering the look in his mother's eyes as she'd mentioned grandchildren.

"… I will find someone father. Someone worthy. And if there is no one worthy, mother will have to accept that."

His father laughed again and Rickar was glad for it. Then the Night King hugged him close and he quickly returned the firm embrace. They parted ways and Rickar gave the other White Walker one last nod before continuing down the tunnel with nothing but the dead for company. It took a little while, but eventually he made it to the other side of the hidden tunnel, sliding his way out of the tiny crevice that was its entrance. The undead came after him, but now with nobody intelligent around, Rickar felt a bit better about trying this out.

Licking his lips, the White Walker focused inwardly, drawing on his magic. This attempted 'spell' or whatever one wished to call it, was based off of little more than his father's ramblings about a city halfway across the world called Asshai, and the beings that lived there who went by the name 'shadowbinders'.

In Rickar's opinion, ice and shadow went hand and hand. His father had speculated rather vaguely about something called a Red Priestess only being able to change her appearance from old to young, not because of her faith in some Lord of Light, but because she was also a trained shadowbinder. Rickar was NOT a trained shadowbinder.

However, he was a White Walker, naturally born and innately powerful. He stood above men and he'd always known that. Rickar did not need to know how something worked to make his magic obey him. He flexed and it did its best to obey. Looking down at his blue hands, the White Walker watched as the pigment receded, leaving him with pale, human flesh. Not truly human of course, as he still did not feel the cold on his extremities.

Still, he could feel it and knew the change, while only skin-deep, was all over, not just his hands. He'd done it. Rickar had successfully disguised himself as a human. With a bark of laughter, the White Walker sent his wights away, having them melt into the surroundings as he began to move along. They would follow after him, but now with this new look of him; he suspected he would not need them.

A smile on his face, the son of the Night King headed south. The first White Walker to go beneath the Wall in over two thousand years. Even the embarrassment of having to find a bride could no longer diminish the excitement Rickar felt. His adventurous spirit, something he hadn't even known he had, reared its head and roared with approval.

This was going to be fun.

-x-X-x-

I was fairly confident Rickar would do just fine south of the Wall. And he probably wouldn't mess anything up either I figured. What could one White Walker do? He'd grab a girl and he'd receive the packages that my Chosen were even now relaying amongst themselves towards the North. With Theon Stark and his army preparing to meet the Andals at the neck, Rickar would more than likely counter little resistance, so long as he stayed smart. And my boy was definitely smart.

In the meantime, without Rickar around, I needed to find something to pass the time. I'd spend much of the last few centuries simply advising him on his projects as he had King-Beyond-the-Wall after King-Beyond-the-Wall give him living labor for them. My army of the dead continued to build shit in the North, but really at this point I had automated castle building and I'd done every possibly design I could think of a dozen times over. The Land of Always Winter was filled to the brim with structures both big and small.

The only concerning thing was that I still hadn't run out of room. The Land of Always Winter seemed to go on forever, but that was impossible. At this point, I was mostly just having the army of the dead build solely to reach the end of the land mass, where ever the hell that was. In the meantime, I supposed it was best for me to take over whatever Rickar had been doing before I'd essentially convinced his mother that he needed to find a woman from her old lands.

Now the current King-Beyond-the-Wall stood before me. Was it bad that I didn't know his name? Well, he did bear my mark so I suppose yes, it was bad. A quick thought later and I had it. Yarghar. Nice name.

"So then Yarghar, what was my son's next project?"

The King-Beyond-the-Wall bowed low and then lifted up the long rolled up piece of paper. Rickar's plans, I presumed. These days, the position of King-Beyond-the-Wall was still the most prestigious role a Free Folk could aspire to, but it'd ultimately been reduced from "leader who unites all Free Folk to attack the Wall" to a glorified construction foreman or supervisor or whatever. Might be time to find a way to say their title without it being so wordy. King-Beyond-the-Wall… it'd never been very accurate anyways. I was the TRUE King beyond the Wall after all.

Regardless, this Yarghar fellow unrolled his plans and spread them out on the big table before me. I took in the thing and a slow smile spread across my face as I realized what I was seeing. The True North already had a couple of these, but nothing on this scale. There were boats of course and small harbors littering both sides of the True North. Nothing this grand though. Nothing that would allow me to send ships across the Narrow Sea to Essos. I was suddenly having all sorts of ideas as I stared down at the plans in front of me.

"Oh this… this has promise."

I'd built so many castles and palaces and even some towers and citadels and a few cathedrals (I'd never quite figured out stained glass.) but in all my time in the north, I'd not done this yet. It was to be full blown harbor city, complete with docks for massive ships and the like. It would in fact be the biggest settlement the Free Folk would have once it was done, if one did not count the giant palaces I had my ever growing population of utterly loyal Thenns living in. Yes, this I could help out with. And wouldn't my son be surprised to find it already completed without him, once he returned home.

Nodding decisively, I looked to Yarghar and smile wickedly.

"Let's get to work."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Decided against a pure Rickar interlude, going to keep things going side by side.**

 **Feedback is immensely appreciated.**

 **-x-X-x-**

Everything was fine and dandy until Rickar made it to Winterfell. To be fair, everything was fine and dandy up until that point mostly because he quite literally hadn't run into a single living soul before then. As he approached Winterfell's gates, a smile plastered on his face, Rickar had no idea how much that was all about to change.

Guards stopped him from entering of course, but then he rather expected that.

"Hail!"

"Halt! Who are you and what business do you have in Winterfell?"

Rickar kept the smile up, even as he saw suspicion in the eyes of the two gate guards. But then of course they were suspicious of him, he was a stranger. Trying to affect the most innocent personality he could muster, the disguised White Walker very pointedly ignored the squadron of reanimated corpses currently surrounding Winterfell from the trees.

"I am but a weary traveler, hoping to find a place to rest. I do not have much, but I had hoped Winterfell's famed hospitality still stood…"

The guards exchanged a look and then snorted at him, eyeing him up and down.

"Aye, we be hospitable 'n the like to northerners. But you ain't a northerner, are ye?"

… They had no idea how wrong they were. Still, Rickar couldn't technically claim to be a traveler and then turn around and claim to be a northerner, now could he. Letting out a put upon sigh, Rickar reached down to his waist and pulled up a pouch, letting it jingle.

"… Did I forget to mention I had coin?"

The eyes of both guardsmen light up at that and Rickar smiles as he tosses the coin pouch to one of them. They quickly open it up and judging from the sounds they're making, Rickar has given them quite the sum indeed. He wouldn't know to be perfectly honest. While he knew how currency south of the Wall worked thanks to father's little spies, he hadn't actually bothered to look inside the pouch of coins purloined from a number of places over the decades.

After all, the dead who had accompanied him past the Wall each had several coin bags of the same exact fullness tied to their rotting persons. Ah, the guardsmen were looking at him again. Rickar made sure his smile was back on his face as both Northmen glanced between the pouch and him a few times. Finally, the one who'd done all the talking tossed his head back over his shoulder.

"Alright then, ye can pass. Don't make any trouble though; just because the Lord of Winterfell ain't in residence don't mean Winterfell ain't protected. Still got plenty of Starks here who'd gladly chop off yer head for makin' the wrong move."

Rickar just continued to smile, nodding and murmuring his thanks as he moved past the greedy men, who were already ignoring him in favor of their new wealth once more. It was interesting to hear that the Lord of Winterfell was not here. Intellectually, Rickar had known that the North was being invaded and it explained why he hadn't seen much life on his way south from the Wall.

Still though, he couldn't help but wonder where Theon Stark had gone, what battle he was fighting. His father's Chosen had spoken of the young, untested wolf being rather… sharp and vicious. Theon Stark had a chip on his shoulder and a desire to prove himself a mile wide. He'd only been Lord of Winterfell for a year when the Andals first began to invade after all. Luckily for him, the north is not a forgiving place and the invasions were going slowly here.

As Rickar walked through Winterfell, he found himself smiling genuinely for the first time as he gazed around. It was nowhere near as impressive as the things his father had built, hell, it wasn't even as impressive as the things HE'D built to impress his father! It couldn't even measure up to the Wall… but it was still a creation of his Uncle and just being within the walls of Winterfell, a place his mother spoke up with such fondness, was a surreal experience to be sure.

Eventually, he came upon the entrance to the godswood that lay within the castle's walls. Rickar stared at the pale trees with their red leaves and ultimately, he moved forward. He simply couldn't help himself. His father might have hated the Weirwood trees and all they represented and Rickar respected the place that his father's feelings came from.

But he couldn't share them. These trees were such beautiful things, a source of never rotting wood that were ultimately as lasting as rock and stone. The things he could do with such construction materials… but no, his father had destroyed the last after waging a war against the plant life that had made his mother throw up her arms in exasperation and his sister run off to join the Wildlings for another few decades.

Best NOT to open those old wounds. Still, it was nice to be among the intriguing trees again. Rickar could almost hear whispers as he drew ever nearer to the heart tree. Wait… no, that was a girl's voice. Rickar blinked dumbly as he came to the edge of the heart tree's clearing, staring at the back of a hunched over figure dressed in black furs. With his enhanced senses, he could easily hear her praying.

"Watch over my brother. See him home safely. If not for me, for yourself. He fights for you; he fights for all of us. Our ways and our gods are threatened. The foreigners come and they invade and they burn down godswoods and slaughter northmen. We fight side by side in this war. So please… watch over my brother."

Rickar is beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable, so he clears his throat and coughs into his fist before he can intrude on this very intimate moment any further. Judging by the way the kneeling woman spins around with an actual shortsword drawn in her fist, perhaps he should have just tip toed back out. And yet… and yet Rickar is struck by her beauty and her ferocity. This is no girl as he first assumed. This is a woman grown, with her sharp edged face and striking blue eyes and black, black hair.

Was this… was this what love felt like?

"You! Who are you to sneak up on the Lady of Winterfell? Name thyself stranger!"

Ah, she was very, very angry with him. Rickar brought the smile back to his face and spread his hands wide to show he was unarmed. He opened his mouth to begin speaking, quite sure that once he explained everything, the beautiful young woman would see that this was all just a big misunderstanding.

-x-X-x-

A few hours later, Rickar sat in a cart alongside nineteen other northmen. They were crowded into one of five such carts heading down the road towards the East. He stared down at his hands in shock, still not entirely certain how he'd gotten here. It'd all been a sort of a blur after a point. A nudge to his shoulder pulled his attention to his left and a bearded, jovial man nodded to him.

"Ey there son, you've been sitting there silent since we left Winterfell. Look like you saw a ghost."

"Hah, ghost nothing! I saw what went down! The fucker got caught trying to hide from the war by the Lady of Winterfell herself! She dragged him out of the godswood he'd tried to lurk in and put him right here on the cart where he sits now!"

Rickar supposed it was better to be considered a craven rather than some creep who'd been stalking the 'Lady of Winterfell' into the godswood. But still, he felt some need to try and defend his honor.

"Didn't know there was a war going on gentlemen… I'm not from around these parts and I hadn't heard about any kind of invasion."

The jovial look is gone from his bearded neighbor as the man snorts derisively, turning on him as fast as the rest of the cart.

"Likely story. How can ye not have heard about the invasion? It's everywhere! Ain't no place to go to run from it boy! Only way to save the North now is to fight back!"

Okay, so he technically HAD heard about the invasion from his father. While the northerners called their enemies foreigners, his father insisted on referring to them as Andals. The Andals invasion, his father had called it. The Night King had gone on to claim that while much of Westeros would ultimately end up under the rule of these invaders, the North would successfully hold them off. His conviction had satisfied a worried Lyanna, but Rickar was now wondering exactly what he was getting himself into. It looked like he was going straight into a war with no way out…

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Rickar still had his 'guards' and they followed along at a run through the trees on either side of the road that he was currently being carried down. And yes, Rickar could have used the wights to attack the caravan, slip away in the confusion, and go back to Winterfell. He was fairly certainly he'd already found his future wife. This Lady of Winterfell… she reminded him of mother. Was that bad? Not in his eyes.

Still though, something inexplicable stayed Rickar's hands and his control over the wights. He didn't want to attack these men, who had done nothing to him and who were likely quite needed against the Andal threat. He did not want to simply go back and kidnap the Lady of Winterfell, hauling her past the Wall just to be done with the whole thing.

Rickar… didn't know exactly what he wanted, but what he did know was that he didn't want the adventure to end like that. Not so quickly anyways. And really, if he truly wished it, he could simply enact such a plan at any time. There was no one here or anywhere else in the north that could stop him. But… that wouldn't be sporting. Rickar had never participated in the old Free Folk tradition of "Wife stealing" but he at least understood the basics of the practice…

And so, with his head held high and his stature among the men he was supposed to fight alongside already in the shitter, Rickar, son of the Night King, natural born White Walker… went to war.

-x-X-x-

I felt like something was probably happening somewhere. Something I wouldn't like? Something I would? Eh, who knew right? It was probably fine. Construction of the massive harbor city I intended to make the Free Folk Capital continued, albeit slowly. Not much had gotten done yet and I was starting to wonder how the hell my son had accomplished all his great works with nothing but living souls.

If I brought down even a small percentage of the army of the dead, I could have his plans realized within a few months… but I'd spent quite a lot of time cultivating a sort of complacency among the wildlings about their dead. They truly didn't understand what happened to their bodies once their souls moved on, or at the very least, they didn't want to acknowledge that.

That meant no bringing fresh corpses from the north down to the build site, especially ones that might be recognized by living wildlings. I could have still used the other reanimated dead that were all around us, always lurking, but skeletons and the more rotted dead that I allowed to hang out in Free Folk lands didn't make for the best labors. And of course, there was one other reason I continued to use living labor for the harbor city.

… Quite simply put, I'd inadvertently created civilization up north. And it'd happened centuries ago but I'd been just a teensy bit slow in realizing it. The wildlings just weren't wild anymore. They'd never called themselves by that title anyways, but even still. Hell, the Free Folk weren't even truly free anymore either. They'd let themselves get tied down by the trappings of the slightest hint of modern society.

They had a fucking unemployment rate! Though of course they didn't call it that. But I'd figured it out quickly enough after spending some time working with them in place of my son. Free Folk men and women were making lives off of the construction of this harbor city. Those who worked were promised everything from currency to trade goods and if you worked long enough and could say you built a large enough portion of the place, you were guaranteed a home once it was done.

So yeah, that was a thing. The Free Folk had evolved behind my back, I swear to god. Or, they'd done it in front of my face and I was just that blind… nah, I preferred the second option. Still, I essentially had a duty to the living now, as annoying as it was. Had to give them work to do or they'd probably starve. That didn't mean I wasn't working on some… passion projects on the side though.

Grinning, I walked down the stone stairs to the harbor's edge, coming to a stop feet from a group of Free Folk that knelt before me in supplication. Behind them lay a single dock with a single boat. Closest thing to a galley or a caravel or whatever that I could vaguely describe to their best shipbuilders. Basically, it would hopefully get them across the sea and then maybe back again if they somehow succeeded in their task.

On each of their arms lay my mark, already given. This latest group of Chosen was special though. They weren't going south of the Wall to infiltrate Westeros. No, if I wanted them to do that, I wouldn't have made this dock and the boat moored at it one of the highest priorities for the new harbor city. Breathing in a deep breath, I smiled down at my Chosen.

"Please Captain; you and your crew may rise."

The Free Folk did so, standing and staring at me with reverence and devotion in their gaze. There was nothing quite like cult loyalty. I was God made manifest to them, and to be able to see and touch one's god does wonders for one's believe. More than that, through my mark I was inside of their minds. I could only imagine this is what pastors and rabbis and priests back in my old world WISHED their relationship with God could be like.

Chuckling, I walk closer, patting the shoulder of the Captain as I pass by them and they part to allow me to look upon the ship that will be taking them across the Narrow Sea. Without looking back, I ask the obvious.

"Do you understand what I have asked you to do Captain? Does your crew?"

"As best as possible your Grace. You have explained the dragons to us and shown us the drawings. We understand that we look for eggs the size of human heads. They will be covered in tiny scales. We are to gather as many as possible and bring them back to you."

That's basically the gist of it. Not that I actually expect them to succeed on this mission. If they did, I would happily give each and every one of them immortality. Might as well tell them so.

"Indeed. And if you succeed in this task, those of you who live will be rewarded beyond your imagining."

Each and every member of the crew bowed their head alongside their Captain as he spoke for them.

"The only reward any of us need is your love, your Grace."

Stop, stop! You're going to make my heart burst from all this adoration and devotion! The irony of the Night King being worshipped as a benevolent god alone is enough that I have to stifle my chuckles. I manage to do it though and I keep my face set in a smile as I finally turned to look at my Chosen again.

"Then know this. Whoever succeeds in this task will be gifted with eternity at my side."

That gets wide eyes and murmurs from the crew as their discipline shatters momentarily, though I consider it for a good reason. I've kept the White Walker transformation thing pretty under wraps, at least among the Free Folk. Oh sure, the Thenn all pretty much know about it, what with Rogund Thenn still walking around, leading them from on high.

But the Thenns aren't Free Folk anymore and they haven't been for a long time. The Thenns are castle dwellers now, they live in a number of my construction projects and they serve me, my immediate family, or one of the steadily growing group of intelligent White Walkers that I've transformed over the centuries.

So yeah, getting given White Walker-hood is still a pretty exclusive club. But if this crew can bring me even one dragon egg to play with, I'll fucking ascend the lot of them right on the spot. Smiling, I nod to the Captain.

"Go on then. You lot have quite the journey ahead of you."

He gives one more bow, as does the rest of the crew. Then they hurry to fulfill my orders, both the immediate one I'd just given and those pertaining to the mission I'm sending them on. Within a half hour, the ship is pulling away from the dock and heading out to the bay and from there out to sea. It was nice, watching them go with the expectation of never seeing them again.

At the very least, even when they failed as I assumed they would, I would gain valuable knowledge on just how far my mark's magic extended. Given I had Chosen in the lands that would one day be called Dorne even now, I knew it was pretty fucking far. Still, would it reach to Valyria? Time would tell. Ultimately, it was more a Hail Mary than anything else. If this first attempt somehow netted me a dragon egg? Fan-fucking-tastic and honestly completely unbelievably lucky. But I expected it to fail and I expected my subsequent attempts to fail as well.

That was the key to a happy life. Don't worry about the little things and don't assume success will follow you into every venture. That way, when you do accomplish a random goal you weren't expecting too, the victory will be all the sweeter! Chuckling to myself, I turned back to the barely started harbor city and smiled. Time to get back to work!

Hopefully my son was having as much fun as I was, south of the Wall.

-x-X-x-

The aged Lord Commander of the Night's Watch stared, mouth agape, down from the Wall. Even from here, one could see the construction going on. What must have been the biggest force of wildlings ever assembled were scurrying all over the place like a multitude of ants. Even with his failing eyesight, the Lord Commander could make out the movement and see the distinct shapes as walls were beginning to go up right alongside buildings.

"What… what are they doing?"

The Master-at-Arms grunted from beside him.

"They're going around us Lord Commander. That's what they're doing."

The old crow's eyes widened and he spun on one of his oldest comrades.

"What?!"

The Master-at-Arms, a no nonsense type of man, just nodded his head towards the construction.

"It's a city. But it's also a harbor. Our men report seeing one ship already sail away from the place. No doubt headed south of the Wall, but it was smart. It went too far out to sea for us to follow and lost itself in the fog. It'll turn back though, you can be sure of that. It'll turn back and it'll attack the North. The Wildlings have grown tired of fighting us as far as I can tell. We're not worth their time anymore. They're bypassing us using ships. And if this harbor of theirs is going to be as big as it looks, that first ship will be joined by many, many more within a year."

"Then… then we have a year to prepare."

"Aye. Or we could nip this in the bud before those damnable walls go up."

The aged Lord Commander shoots a look at the Master-at-Arms, who returns it with a level stare before explaining his words.

"The Night's Watch still has five thousand brothers on the Wall who can fight Lord Commander. The wildlings are playing at civilization, but we both know they'll never be anything more than a disorganized rabble. This is the best shot we've had at them in centuries. Every ranging for the past several hundred years has failed, not because the wildlings are strong, but because they're craven. They hide and they wait and they stab us in our sleep or burn our provisions or slit the throats of our horses to leave us to die in the cold."

The Lord Commander is finding it hard to not get just a bit inspired by his old friend's words. The Master-at-Arms only pauses for a second to catch his breath before continuing on.

"Now they've made themselves a target. They can't slink away into the trees this time, not when they've cut down every tree for leagues around their precious little project. This is our one chance to strike and break their backs before those walls are up and they've got a defensible position. For the time being, they're still living in their tents and their huts. But they're finally doing it out in the open, with nothing between them and our blades but their damn furs!"

Staring at the Master-at-Arms, the aged Lord Commander of the Night's Watch finds his chest is puffing up at the thought of it. The other man is right! This is it! This is the moment that he's been waiting for! His chance to leave the Watch better than he found it, a chance to reclaim some of its lost glory and to reverse the decline it'd been in for the last several centuries! Licking his lips to moisten them, the Lord Commander smiles widely for the first time in a long time.

"You're right old friend. You're right… come; we need to rally the brothers. Gather everyone at the Nightfort. We must ride within the week or our opportunity will be lost to us."

The Master-at-Arms just nods simply and the two men move off. The young steward, personally assigned to the Lord Commander, has been completely forgotten. He moves to follow them but then pauses for a brief moment. One hand goes to clasp his arm and he shuts his eyes in concentration as his lips move silently.

Beneath the black sleeve covering his clutched arm, the Night King's blue handprint glows brightly indeed.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I did not have time to write a full chapter tonight, so I went ahead and put together this interlude instead. I'm getting a new computer tomorrow, so probably won't be able to write anything for this story for at least the next day, maybe the next couple.**

 **Enjoy~**

 **-x-X-x-**

 **The Life and Death of Urrk Frag, Free Thinkin' Wildling**

 **-x-X-x-**

He was one of the adventurous ones. One of the ones who questioned the nature of their existence. Nobody else did. The Free Folk had become kneelers in his humble opinion. They kneeled to a God at least, rather than a King or a Lord, but they still knelt. Well, not Urrk Frag. Urrk didn't kneel to no one, even if he did acknowledge the Night King's power.

Trying to start a revolution against the inhuman being was futile. Better to just leave. That was the conclusion Urrk eventually came to and so, like many free thinkers before him, Urrk had packed up his things and headed north. Wasn't like he could go south of the Wall after all. Not only would the Night's Watch kill him rather than let him through, Urrk knew that those south of the Wall were even bigger kneelers than the Free Folk.

It wasn't right, all that damn kneeling. Urrk was a free spirit and he needed to find a place where he could be that without the invisible shackles that bound his kin! And so Urrk headed north through the Haunted Forest. And eventually he came to the edge of the trees, looked out at the frozen wasteland before him… and nearly balked.

But no, once he'd checked to make sure his supplies were still tip top and what not, Urrk trudged on forward into the endless snowy plains in front of him. The wildling was not about to let a bit of bad weather stop him. He wasn't.

It didn't take long for Urrk to run into the first castle. He stared, wide eyed up at the thing. It was bigger than any structure he'd ever seen before… it might have even been bigger than the wall. All black, jagged spikes and foreboding skull gates. Urrk didn't think castles could be evil, but this… this Citadel of Ice, it felt like it was evil. Like there was a presence to it, like the damn eye sockets of the skulls were staring at him!

Urrk dared not enter. Instead, he continued onwards north. He passed by many a castle, some similar to that one, some not so much. The wildling entered NONE of them though, so shaken he was by the first he'd encountered. Instead, Urrk moved on and carefully rationed his supplies to carry him further and further north.

He was far past the point of no return by now. If he went back, he'd die on the way home. But Urrk didn't want to go back anyways. Even in the biting winds and freezing cold, he was still who he was! A free thinking man who didn't need no god or lord or king to kneel to! Gritting his teeth, Urrk trudged on, never stopping, barely resting.

Eventually though, his supplies began to run out. The elements began to get to him. Urrk needed shelter. Ultimately, he came across a structure amidst what felt like a hundred-hundred structures and this one wasn't so frightening. Made out of slanted sheets of ice, it spoke of solitude and loneliness to his innate sixth sense.

Urrk entered the seemingly empty structure, hoping that perhaps he would find food or water. He walked among the unnatural ice that made up the fortress and he shivered as he clutched his furs closer to his chest. Turning a corner, the wildling screamed and fell back as a wight stared him in the face without eyes.

The reanimated corpse was more than half rotted, but it still had hair on its barely there scalp, and teeth in its jaw. It seemed to regard him for a moment as he lay there frozen on the ground. Then, it moved past him, shambling along. Urrk calmed his beating heart. It was only a deader. No big deal. They were all around growing up, it made sense that they'd be here too. Just a fact of life right? Corpses got up and walked around sometimes and so long as you didn't bug them, they didn't bug you.

Slowly, Urrk got to his feet, staring after the corpse as it walked away from him. Where was it going? What was it planning on doing next? These questions filled Urrk's free thinkin' mind, but ultimately something far more important to the adventurous wildling reared its ugly head. His stomach growled so mightily that Urrk half thought there was a snow bear around for a moment.

After realizing the gnawing pain in his belly was getting worse, Urrk grimaced and turned away to continue on his path deeper into the fortress, that solitary feeling growing even as he found several more deaders along the way. Eventually though, he caught a whiff of something. Smelled like… like something edible. Urrk couldn't place a name to the smell, but he followed it along and ultimately discovered the fortress' larder.

The adventurous wildling was lucky that the Night King considered a fully stocked kitchen a proper component of any castle. Urrk ended up eating his full that night and every night for a week. He barely made a dent in the food store and at the end of the week, when he finally decided that he had to keep going north, that he couldn't allow himself to be tied down to one place, even a nice place like this… he took as much as he could carry with him.

Urrk continued on north with his food store. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and Urrk would stop by the fortresses that looked exactly like the one he'd first looted, whenever he began to run out of food. There seemed to be no end to the massive structures, but at the very least he'd learned the lay out of this particular one, which seemed to be repeated every dozen or so castles over and over again.

Ultimately, there were only about ten to fifteen different types of structures, made over and over again in the same exact way every single time. But there were hundreds if not thousands of those ten to fifteen types and Urrk wondered if there was ever an end to this, or if they simply layered across the north forever and ever.

Months became a year and then two years and then three years. Urrk kept moving though. An adventurous spirit like him could never be happy with settling down. He had to explore, he had to discover new things. And with a full stomach, he could do that. Even if the new things he was discovering at this point were just new versions of old things he'd found for the last several years dotting the landscape behind him.

It all grew rather repetitive and more than once Urrk considered turning around… but then he'd spend the same amount of time going BACK to the Free Folk as he'd spent getting here and he was afraid it would drive him mad. Surely he had to be close to the end of the repetitive castles and fortresses and citadels and palaces, right? Surely, there had to BE an end to them, somewhere in the north…

And he was in fact right. Eventually, Urrk found the end. He came to the place where a dozen new massive structures were being built and he stood there with his eyes wide and his jaw dropped open. An uncountable multitude of deaders scurried all over the foundations of the half-built castles before him. Slowly, Urrk found himself putting one foot in front of the other, until he was close enough to see them more clearly.

They weren't rotted. They had skin and eyes and beyond the blue glow in said eyes and the paleness of said skin, they almost looked as alive as anyone he'd ever known. But… deaders weren't this intelligent were they? How could they possibly be building a castle? Had they built EVERY castle?! Slowly, Urrk explored further, making sure to never disturb any of the dead in their work. The horror stories of fucking with the reanimated corpses were taught to every Free Folk child. You don't touch them, you don't throw rocks at them, you don't even shout at them if you can help it.

Deaders were harmless… until they weren't. So Urrk was very careful as he continued on, until finally he saw something that made his already frozen blood run even colder. There was a White Walker there, sitting atop a horse, watching the proceedings. Almost as if he was observing the deaders… almost as if he was controlling them.

A whole lot of pieces crystallized in Urrk's mind in that moment. He had to make several leaps of logic to get there, but when he did he was pretty much spot on. Urrk Frag, free thinker and even freer spirit, had discovered the truth. Both about the White Walkers… and the Free Folk. They were… they were being cultivated, his people were! They were being grown and they prospered at the benevolence of the White Walkers, solely so that when they died, the blue skinned beings could use their corpses for… t-this?!

Urrk didn't fully understand why, but he did get the what. And it was horrifying to a man like Urrk. The desecration of their dead across untold amounts of time. There were more dead here along this stretch of half-finished castles then Urrk had thought existed. Many magnitudes more than the living Free Folk back in the Haunted Forest.

This… this was the truth of the North. This was the TRUE True North. His kin beyond the Wall, they had no idea what was awaiting them. Someone… someone had to tell them. Had to tell them all.

Urrk spun around to begin the trek back down south, possible loss of sanity be damned, only to run straight into the chest of a waiting wight. It's clawed, bone fingers grabbed him before he could fall back and he was left staring into its empty gaze. Its glowing blue eyes flicked up past his shoulder and Urrk followed them, looking back to see the White Walker staring down from atop his horse.

"Oh no…"

They were the first words the adventurous wildling had spoken in a long time. They came out raspy, but it was a miracle that they came out at all given how long his frozen vocal cords had gone without use. They were also the last words Urrk ever said. He turned back to the wight and it attacked, a roar coming from its throat and its jaw spread unnaturally wide.

Urrk died there and a few moments later, he rose up and alongside his wight brother, he got to work. Just like every adventurous 'free thinking' wildling before him and just like every adventurous 'free thinking' wildling that had yet to come.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Here we go~**

 **-x-X-x-**

The first sign that something was wrong was definitely the moment the scout came back with strange tidings

"Come again?"

The aged Lord Commander couldn't help but wonder if his hearing was failing him. But no, as the young brother of the Night's Watch spoke in a confused tone, he heard the exact same thing fall from the man's lips.

"Sir... it's the wildlings. They know we're coming… and they're waving a white flag."

The Night's Watch's leader was flabbergasted. In the end, it was his Master-at-Arms that spoke from his side, sounding as incredulous as the Lord Commander felt.

"… A peace banner? They're truly flying a peace banner? It must be in jest… how do they even know the significance of the white flag? They're wildlings! Their very existence is without honor!"

The young scout could only shrug his shoulders. He'd given his message, but that didn't mean he had the answers they sought. Seeing that the boy was staring at him expectantly, the Lord Commander finally spoke.

"You may go son. And tell no one of this, not yet."

The brother bowed his head low and left the group of old men to discuss this development. The Lord Commander couldn't help but blanch a little whenever he looked around at his fellows. When did the Night's Watch's leadership get so damn aged? He'd known he was on his last legs, but his First Ranger, his Master-at-Arms and even his Commanders were all getting to that point as well. For many of them, most of all himself, this would be their last ranging.

"The wildlings are asking for a parley… might be good for a lark, but it could also be a trap. Mayhap we should ignore it and attack as planned, yes?"

The Lord Commander was of a mind to agree with his Master-at-Arms, but then the First Ranger spoke up with a shake of his head.

"Nay. I know wildlings, even if I don't know them as well as my long-gone predecessors. They don't understand our honor, to be sure, but they have their own sort of honor. If the scout speaks true, and I don't think any of us are calling the boy a liar, then this is an offer in good faith. It may be that we should hear them out… with the full force of this five thousand man ranging at our backs. We can wipe them out after we hear what they have to say."

Looking to the Master-at-Arms, the Lord Commander found nothing but a shrug. The man wouldn't go against the experience of the First Ranger. They were all old friends after all, of a sort. They'd grown up in the Watch together and now they led the Watch together. They bowed to one another's experience in matters that each of them HAD more experience in.

In truth, though the Lord Commander did not know it, the last few decades had been the strongest, most unified leadership the Night's Watch had had in a long time. Made of bastards, they'd all had something to prove and they'd proved it by growing into their own and becoming leaders of men. Unfortunately, the writings of their predecessors had kept them afraid and wary of the wildlings beyond the Wall.

Now here they were, about to unknowingly walk into the maw of a waiting beast that would swallow them whole.

The Lord Commander knew none of this and simply nodded in agreement.

"Very well. The ranging shall move to the wildling's encampment tomorrow morning and we shall find out what these savages have to say for themselves."

With the Lord Commander's words final, the rest of his men nodded. That was that and that was it. Everyone moved off to get as best a night's sleep as could be expected in the frozen conditions beyond the Wall. The old men of the Night's Watch already missed their castles and hearths. But they were ever so slightly warmed by the thought of regaining lost glory and reversing the decay of respect in their declining organization.

-x-X-x-

The next morning, the Lord Commander led his host to the build site where the wildlings were said to be waiting with their white flag. The Night's Watch refused to call it a build site though of course, instead referring to it as an encampment. As they left the tree line and came upon the rather large 'encampment', they found a massive force of wildlings waiting for them, armed not with weapons or leather, but with furs and tools.

The wildling at the head of the group held the flag and after a moment's pause, he took a step forward. The Lord Commander and the leaders of the Night's Watch did the same, until they stood within shouting distance of each other. It hurt his aged throat to do it, but the Lord Commander spoke first, hoping to take some measure of authority in this exchange.

"Well? You called for this parley wildling! Speak and tell me who you are! Tell me what you and your ilk think you're doing, attempting to circumvent the Wall like this!"

"I am the King-Beyond-the-Wall! My name does not matter, nor does yours in the end! We are leaders of men Lord Commander, and while your men have killed many of mine and my men have killed many of yours, I had hoped we could talk peacefully, before this ends in bloodshed."

The Lord Commander glanced at his comrades and found them just as incredulous as he. Looking back at the 'King-Beyond-the-Wall', he shouted once more in response.

"Do you hope to convince us to leave? Do you expect us to allow you to complete your work, so that you can launch ships and bypass the Wall to attack the south? We do not defend the Wall wildling! The Wall defends Westeros and we are but Watchers atop it! We would be very poor men indeed if we allowed you to pass us by without an attempt at stopping you."

At his side, his Master-at-Arms muttered under his breath.

"What kind of King-Beyond-the-Wall doesn't want to attack the Wall? The man is a craven Lord Commander. Push him and he'll fold. If we force him and his ilk to leave now, we can take some of these supplies back with us without risking damage to them. Those tools they're holding look surprisingly well-crafted."

The Lord Commander tilted his head towards the Master-at-Arms to show he'd heard the man's words, even as the wildling yelled out again.

"I hoped to avoid bloodshed, yes! Our God has told us what he intends for you! I do not wish that on any man, neither Free Folk nor kneeler! I begged him for this chance to ask you to turn around and go back. Go back Lord Commander! Go back to your Wall! We do not intend to attack Westeros! We have no desire to raid any of the lands south of the Wall! Our way of life does not threaten yours, unless you threaten our way of life!"

There's a pause as the men of the Night's Watch digest this. There's some confusion thrown around as everyone looks at each other and realizes they have the same question on their minds. The Lord Commander gives voice to it in yet another shout. This exchange is beginning to leave the old man hoarse and short of breath. The abnormally cold air even for this far north that's causing every last brother to shiver in their heavy furs is not helping.

"You say God. I was under the impression that the wildlings worshipped the Old Gods still. Do you not still sacrifice to the godswoods and their heart trees?"

The wildling shakes his head at that.

"We do not! We have not for generations! The Free Folk have long had a new god Lord Commander! Your information is out of date and you would do well to heed my words! Our new God is powerful and ruthless, but he is also kind and merciful! We destroyed every last weirwood beyond the Wall on HIS command, but he has not sent us further south to destroy your godswoods as well! He offers a gentle hand and a closed fist! Choose the former, lest you feel the terrifying bite of the latter!"

"Destroyed every last… they've gone too far. We must attack. We must cleanse these so-called men from the face of this world. Please Lord Commander, give the order and we will attack. The Night's Watch cannot let this stand."

His Master-at-Arms was right, at least in his opinion. This was blasphemous in the extreme. And when none of his other comrades spoke up, the Lord Commander nodded and drew his sword from its sheathe. Holding up the bronze blade, he shouted and every brother of the Watch arrayed behind him heard.

"Night's Watch! Attack!"

The charge began, but the so-called 'King-Beyond-the-Wall' did not move and neither did the tool-wielding wildlings behind him. Instead, a moment after his cry went out, an inhuman screeching sound filled his ears. The Lord Commander's eyes widened and he along with every other member of the Night's Watch on the ranging spun to face the sound. The only problem was, it came from all around them.

A moment later, a tidal wave of reanimated corpses washed out from the forest edge behind them and to their sides in a half-circle that swiftly cut them off and transformed into a full circle. The last thing the Night's Watch's aged Lord Commander saw before he was fighting for his life against the lifeless was the wildling who had begged him to turn back, staring with regret in his eyes.

Then the King-Beyond-the-Wall turned and began to walk away, and the gaps closed. From that moment on, all the Lord Commander and every man under his command saw was death until the darkness took each and every last one of them.

The Night's Watch was dead.

-x-X-x-

"The King is dead, long live the King."

I couldn't help muttering that under my breath and giggling to myself as I watched my new army of dead crows strip themselves naked and hand their black cloaks and clothing off to the waiting, nervous Free Folk. I sat upon Snowy X, because Snowy 10.0 sounded stupid. The largest alpha shadowcat I'd ever found easily dwarfed most of my previous snow bear mounts, but I kept the name instead of switching to Shadowy, mostly because Shadowy sounded fucking stupid.

Beside me, bereft of such an amazing mount, stood the Free Folk's current King-Beyond-the-Wall.

"Thank you, Your Grace, for saving us in this dark hour. Without your intervention, they would have done untold damage to my people and our work here. We cannot run and hide among the trees when we've cut them all down after all."

"Of course. What kind of God would I be, if I did not save my people from their enemies?"

I give the Free Folk man my best smile, but given the way he averts his gaze, I don't imagine its having the effect I want it to have.

"Indeed, Your Grace. I only wish… I only wish they'd seen reason."

This King-Beyond-the-Wall had to be the biggest pansy to ever hold the position, in my humble, long-lived opinion. But then, that was my fault, wasn't it? I'd essentially pacified the Free Folk. This man was a product of my actions. Oh sure, he and his people would have fought if I hadn't helped as I did. They would have defended this project with their lives. But the Free Folk no longer lived in conflict, and that meant they no longer lived FOR it either.

They had other things they wanted to be doing, besides fighting and killing and dying. Unfortunately, the Night's Watch, may it rest in peace, hadn't understood that.

"Some men are incapable of seeing reason my good man, even when it's right in front of their face, staring them in the eye. Some men must be removed for reason to prosper and flourish. Now that these men HAVE been removed, we can move on with our plans. The Harbor City will be built… it will simply be built a little slower with the absence of five thousand working souls."

The King-Beyond-the-Wall nodded at that, swallowing thickly as he watched a section of his workforce dress in the clothing of dead crows.

"How long… how long will you require their service on the Wall, Your Grace?"

I consider the question for a long moment, a smile on my face at the mere mention of my hilariously evil plan.

"Mm, a while at least. Long enough to settle in, long enough to train the new castoffs that Westeros will send our way. Still, they're in the middle of a war with foreign invaders. I suspect it will be a very small trickle of recruits for a long time to come. Plenty of time to change the Night's Watch as a whole. Not to worry. Your city will never be threatened by those atop the Wall again. From this day forward, the Watchers will be your kin."

That was what finally got a smile from the King-Beyond-the-Wall. I smiled too. It was a pretty fucking awesome plan if I did say so myself… and I did. It was also a plan I hadn't intended to implement for another several hundred years or so, slowly but surely infiltrating the Night's Watch with my Chosen over the course of generations, until I could get all my people into the right positions and then slowly use them to effect minor changes atop minor changes.

It would have been the longest long con to ever long con, spread out over centuries, possibly even millennia. I'd been rather excited about it, as the first group of five Chosen had managed to take their oaths only a few months ago. It was the start of a masterpiece that would be built across the ages.

I'd underestimated the inherent stupidity of man.

And now, here we were, with Free Folk dressing as crows, preparing to go serve atop the Wall at the behest of their God. Speaking of which, it looked like the majority of them were finished dressing. I supposed now was as good a time as any too begin. Sliding off of Snowy X's back, I plod through the snow towards the mass of black cloaks and raise my hands into the air and my voice right alongside them.

"My children! Line up and bare your right arm to me!"

They did so and one by one, I gave five thousand new 'brothers of the Night's Watch' my mark. It was the largest conversion of Free Folk to Chosen that I'd ever done and when it was finished, I was ever so slightly off put by the mass connection to humans I had now in my head. I was able to quiet the deafening cacophony of emotions and thoughts to a dull roar after a moment though.

Once I was sure I was composed, I smiled and lifted my arms up once again.

"Now go, brothers of the Night's Watch! Go and take your place atop the Wall! You will find open gates and open arms waiting for you back at the Nightfort!"

The mass of Free Folk-turned-Watchmen bowed low and then turned and went. The ranging reversed course and headed back to the Wall it had come from. I had not lied either, when I said they'd find open arms. The only people left alive on the Wall at this point were the five young Chosen I'd sent to infiltrate the place. Poison and treachery had seen to the deaths of the Stewards that had remained behind to manage the castles. The Wall was veritably empty.

But it wouldn't be for long.

-x-X-x-

Rickar hadn't expected to find a literal war at the end of his journey. He didn't honestly know what to expect to be fair. A war camp perhaps? Battle lines drawn up and two armies facing off, just like in his father's stories. Except, the Northmen weren't that civilized and while the Andals might have claimed to be, neither were they. This was a fight for survival and the Northmen were in a constant struggle just to keep from being drowned in the bodies of their enemies.

This was the scene that Rickar arrived to. Bodies being piled up into two categories. Foreign, or Northern. The Northmen were eventually carted off for burial once their identities could be confirmed. The Andal piles just got burnt one and all. The smell of burning human flesh was surprisingly not too bad to Rickar's senses, but the sight of it was still rather grotesque.

As their cart pulled to a stop and they were ushered off of it, Rickar went where he was told and soon found himself standing in a line. He and every man he'd traveled with were armed with a weapon and a small piece of wood with a strap on one side. That was it, no armor, no training… it drove home just how desperate the situation was. Rickar eyed the maul he'd been given. It was more of a stick with a stone tied to its top then a proper maul, but it looked well-crafted enough to hold together for a few swings.

From his father's writings, Rickar knew the Andals would be wielding iron. He wondered where that was, until he saw the actual Northern soldiers and their armaments. There were more piles further in, this time of weapons. The Northmen were a hardy lot and not as foolish as some might have liked to believe. A man would deposit his weapon in a pile where it would then be given to a newly arrived warrior. That man would then go to the next pile and choose from among the weapons of the fallen Andals.

It became quite easy to tell the veterans from the rookies in this ragtag army. The veterans were decked out in Andal gear, as well as blood. The rookies were looking enviously at the veterans, like they couldn't decide whether to be impressed or jealous. Rickar's little line up was brought to a man wearing a dire wolf's pelt over his shoulders. A cleared throat saw him turning around and facing them all.

His eyes were a striking blue that Rickar recognized immediately. The pitch-black hair and beard would have been a dead giveaway as well. Theon Stark stared at all of the new arrivals, Rickar included. He looked them up and down and gave off the impression that he was not in any way impressed with the sight of them.

"Do you know who I am?"

His voice was quieter than Rickar expected, but no less menacing. There was an air of authority to the Hungry Wolf that caused all lesser men to straighten up just a bit more. Rickar joined them slightly belatedly as everyone, himself included, nodded or gave some sort of affirmation. Once they'd done so, Theon nodded back.

"Good. It's important that you know the man you fight for. Will you all fight for me?"

There's a chorus of aye's in response, Rickar's included, but then one of the fuckers tries to throw him under the bus, pointing him out and speaking in a mocking tone.

"Don't rightly know about this one my King. Been told he got caught hiding in the godswood by your Lady Sister and had to be dragged by the ear to the cart. Think he's craven King Theon."

Rickar stayed stoic outwardly, while inwardly he cursed the man with every expletive he could think of. As Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf, approached him where he stood, Rickar felt with his mind for the undead lurking just out of sight even now. If he needed to, he would attack in order to retreat. Luckily, no man, not even the Lord Stark himself, seemed to carry dragonglass on their person. The White Walker threat was too far removed it seemed.

"Is that true? Were you hiding in the godswood to escape the war? Are you craven?"

Pulled from his thoughts, Rickar stared into those striking blue eyes. Personally, he thought they looked better on Theon's sister, but he wasn't about to make THAT his answer. Instead, he spoke truthfully and hoped that the current King in the North was the kind of man who could read such a thing in another's gaze.

"No, your Grace. I was not hiding from the war. I am not craven."

Theon believes him, Rickar somehow knows it, feels it almost instinctively. The King doesn't let up easily though. He asks a follow up question instead and his stare feels a lot more personal now.

"Then why WERE you in the godswood, alone with my dear sister?"

Now EVERYONE within earshot had their eyes on him and the Hungry Wolf. And despite just moments before passing up an answer that would have been foolhardy and moronic… Rickar can't resist giving one equally as stupid now.

"I wished to see one last beautiful sight, before I went off to fight and possibly die in war. Your sister is gorgeous when angry, your Grace."

Dead silence reigns across the camp/battlefield as everyone stares in abject disbelief at Rickar's brazenness. Theon's own face has shuttered, the man is the kind who hides behind a blank mask when he's processing insanity. Rickar waits patiently, resigned to fight his way out of this mess if need be. He'll go back to Winterfell, he'll kidnap the Lady Stark, and he'll- wait… is Theon laughing?

The King in the North is actually busting a gut, right before Rickar's eyes. The Hungry Wolf is nearly doubled over as he belly laughs, and with his humor filling the otherwise silent air, those around them begin to join in as well, as if only now is Rickar's spur-of-the-moment jape suddenly hilarious to them. Of course, they laugh nervously while Theon Stark can't seem to STOP laughing.

Finally though, the man does manage to contain himself. He straightens up and gives Rickar a lopsided smile as he plants a hand firmly on the disguised White Walker's shoulder.

"My good man, I'm going to make sure you survive this war, solely so that I can have you give that line to my sister's face when we return to Winterfell. We'll let HER decide your fate from there, sound good?"

Rickar isn't sure whether Theon is truly this kind of man, behind the 'Hungry Wolf' or if he's just putting a stay on Rickar's execution because he needs every body to throw against the Andals that he can get. Either way, Rickar now has an image too maintain. Smiling cockily, the disguised White Walker gives a half shrug with the shoulder Theon isn't currently gripping.

"Sounds great, your Grace."

Theon is probably the only one who immediately understands the underlying tone in Rickar's message, because he's the only one who starts laughing all over again. Once he's calmed down, he turns his shoulder grab into an arm around Rickar's neck and leads the man away from the rabble.

"You… I like you. Let's hope my sister DOESN'T decide to have me kill you, when all this is said and done, eh? For now though, what's your name man?"

… So that worked huh? Mentally commanding the undead to pull back a little way from their readied positions just outside of the camp, Rickar walks along with the King in the North, wondering how his father would react if he could see him now. Hell… how would his mother react?

"Rickar your Grace. My name is Rickar."

Theon stops for a moment, surprised.

"Rickar. That's a Stark name, if I've ever heard one."

Rickar just smiles wanly, his response falling easily from his lips.

"My mother always spoke well of the Starks your Grace."

It wasn't a lie after all. Theon just laughed.

"A good woman! A good woman indeed! Come Rickar, let's get you something better than that stick and rock. These foreign bastards have the best toys."

Apparently, this was his life now. Fighting a war against the Andals on a Northern Beach alongside the Hungry Wolf himself.

… On second thought, Rickar didn't mind this being his life now one bit.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: And here we are. More Rickar and Theon. More SI and Lyanna. Mostly Rickar and Theon tbh tho.**

 **-x-X-x-**

They'd barely sat down to eat when a horn sounded and Theon immediately jumped to his feet, the piece of meat he'd taken one bite from forgotten at his feet. Rickar stood as well, his hand immediately going to the pommel of the iron sword that the Hungry Wolf had gifted him. The disguised White Walker had managed to avoid the gifts of armor. Theon had seemed pleased with that and only belatedly had Rickar realized the King also forewent Andal armaments. Though that did not stop him from wielding a particularly wicked looking iron pole-axe he'd apparently pulled from one of the foreign leaders.

"What does the horn mean your Grace?"

Theon spun to face him, a feral grin on his face and a wild light in his eyes.

"Enemies Rickar, it means enemies. The foreigners have been landed on our shores for weeks now, each force larger than the last. They have a fleet of ships, bigger than anything I've ever seen, just out of range of our archers' farthest shot. After we arrived and crushed their first army while it was still setting up camp, they've sent their forces at us in waves. This will no doubt be the biggest yet. Come! To battle!"

… Rickar's new 'friend' was a bloodthirsty man indeed. Rickar didn't exactly have the same appetite for killing humans that the King in the North did, but at the same time, he also had no qualms about it. Pulling his sword free, he followed Theon Stark away from the small fire they'd been sat eating around. Within moments, they were on the beach and amidst the fighting.

Theon hadn't been wrong, it was as he said, Andal men in all assortments of armor had landed from a dozen rowboats and were currently engaging the Northerners with a ferocity only matched by their opponents. In some cases, even exceeded. The Andals fought for conquest and reward and land, and all those things were good for motivating a man to kill.

But the Northmen fought for far more and there was nothing like love and hate when it came to motivation. Rickar watched as Theon charged into the melee without a care in the world, swinging that massive pole-axe around like a demon. After a moment, he moved to follow. Of course, with the King in the North's weapon of choice being what it was, there was no 'fighting back-to-back' like Rickar had read in some of his father's tales.

Rather, Theon was his own back-to-back, a whirlwind of death as Rickar stayed close but not too close, cutting down any Andal that got within reach of him. The fighting was fierce and the disguised White Walker saw many a Northman fall to iron… but not nearly as many as the Andals who died on that beach. While the first rush had gone to the invaders, the tide was quickly and decisively turning against them. There was just no way for the men to match the ferocity with which the Northerners fought.

The desire for riches did not outweigh the desire for blood and vengeance, nor the desire to protect those the North cherished most of all. Each man on that beach who fought for the Hungry Wolf also fought for the women and children they'd left behind, for the families that had lived on these lands for generations.

It was inspiring to watch, an awesome sight in the most literal definition of the word. It was also why Rickar got so distracted. That and Theon's little dance of death was a beautiful thing. Either way, the disguised White Walker grew lax… and the next thing he knew, an iron sword was shattering across his chest.

There was a moment of stillness. Not across the entire battlefield, but between Rickar and the Andal man who had tried to slash at him. The human's eyes were wide and Rickar let out a sigh, before grabbing the man by the top of his skull and sliding his sword swiftly through his neck. Looking around carefully, Rickar let out a sigh of relief as he found no one watching him. It didn't look like anyone had seen.

From that moment on, Rickar did not let himself be distracted. He continued to fight until the fighting was done, focusing on any and all who stood in his way with a single-minded focus that saw each and every last Andal dead in his path. In the end, both Theon and Rickar stood side by side on the beach, having fought all the way to the rowboats. There wasn't a living man anywhere near either of them, even as Theon thumped a hand on Rickar's back, leaned his pole axe in the crux of his shoulder, and pointed out at the horizon.

"See 'em Rickar? See those bastards waiting right outside of our arrow range. The fuckers seem endless, but I know that's not true. We must have killed hundreds of them by now. Those ships of theirs are big motherfuckers and they sure have a lot of them, but they'll run out of men long before we run out of drive to kill them."

Rickar could see them, without even squinting. His enhanced eyesight let him pick out the ships and even the men captaining them. More than one was staring back, directly at him and Theon. Rickar pressed his lips together before a realization caused his eyes to widen. He spun, grabbed Theon by his furs, and threw the man to the ground.

A moment later, a half-dozen arrows thudded into his back, sticking in his clothing but not piercing his skin. Cursing up a storm, Rickar manhandled a wide-eyed Theon further up the beach, the Stark King only having the time to grab hold of his pole-axe and not let go as the much stronger White Walker forced him back. Arrows continued to fall and more than one found its mark in Rickar's clothing, until his back was fully riddled with the things.

Eventually though, they were far enough away that the arrows stopped thudding around them and started thudding only behind them. That was where Rickar stopped, panting a bit, not from exertion but from adrenaline.

"Rickar?"

The King in the North sounded a little lost, so Rickar shared the realization he'd had moments before.

"They're out of YOUR arrow range… but that doesn't mean you're out of theirs. They've got better weapons and armor… stood to reason that they have better bows too, these Andals."

"… Andals?"

Rickar stiffened at his misstep and that was the same moment that a dozen Northmen arrived to drag him off the King, taking hold of him as if he'd been the one to attack Theon, rather than save his life. They had to hold him from the sides though, as his back looked a bit like a pincushion. Only now that he was up on his feet again did Rickar realize how many wide-eyed men were surrounding them. Most of them were staring at him too, rather than their King.

Well shit.

He was being looked at as if he was a demon incarnate. Some men even had their weapons grasped tightly in hand as they shifted from foot to foot and stared at him. Rickar was just about ready to break free and call his wights to battle, but Theon was rising to his feet and Rickar figured he could at least find out which way the King was going to come down on before making his move.

Theon stared at Rickar in the same way many of his men did. Then he looked around, as if just noticing the audience they had himself. Pressing his lips together, the Hungry Wolf looked back to the man he'd become something akin to a fast friend with.

"Rickar… I think we need to have a talk."

Well, a talk was good. Rickar could hang around for a quick 'chat'. Letting out a low sigh, the disguised White Walker just nodded in agreement and allowed himself to be dragged away for the 'talk'.

-x-X-x-

"Magic? I suppose I believe it… nothing you just did could be possible otherwise."

In the face of Theon's half-incredulous tone, Rickar simply shrugged his shoulders and spread his open palms wide. The White Walker sat in a wooden cage, one of the few hastily constructed to house deserters or rapists or the like within the Hungry Wolf's army. They didn't take foreign prisoners, so they had no need for bigger cages.

The arrows were gone from his back, pulled free from where they'd stuck fast in his thick jerkin and furs. It was just him, Theon, and a couple of guards. The rest of the men were celebrating their victory, both to keep up morale and to rub it into the faces of those fuckers out on their ships. The revelry was loud and the fires roaring high into the air, but the cages were slightly removed from such celebration, leaving Theon and Rickar able to converse quietly.

"It is as you say. My magic is the only reason I still live. It is also the only reason YOU still live."

Theon snorted derisively at that.

"You don't have to remind me that you saved my life Rickar. I was there, I know I would have been covered in those arrows within seconds if you hadn't reacted in time. Still… magic. Only ever heard of it in myths or legends. Don't think magic has been seen in Westeros for a long, long time… kind of like the Children of the Forest. We know they carved the heart trees, but if any still live, they're long gone, hidden away in places we do not know to go or cannot reach. So to have you here, wielding magic… makes a man wonder where you came from Rickar."

Straightening his back, Rickar did his level best to stare down the King in the North. Theon didn't look too impressed, until he heard what Rickar had to say.

"Doesn't matter where I'm from your Grace, if you don't mind me saying that. All that matters is that I'm here now. Might be true that those with magic hide and stay away from those without out of fear of what a jealous man will do to satiate his dark thoughts, but doesn't mean we won't stay hidden when the time comes to fight against a foe we all need to defeat. The Andals come for us all."

Theon nods slowly and then catches that last bit, just as Rickar had hoped. He's an amateur at leading conversations where he wants them to go compared to his father, but he can manage this much at least.

"Andals… you used that word back at the beach too. See, you giving a name to these foreigners makes it all even more suspicious. Surely you can see that. I don't know WHY a foreign spy would save my life from his own people, but I need to be sure. I need to know why you call them Andals."

It was Rickar's turn to nod slowly… and then he proceeded to try and lie his ass off.

"Where I'm from… there are stories. Not just of the past, but of the future. The Andals' arrival on these shores was prophesized as long ago as the legends and myths that you talked about. My people have had the knowledge, but not the will to use it. Until me. I know who the Andals are, yes. I know where they come from too. The sea that they cross is not vast, nor is their homeland beyond our grasp."

There's a spark in Theon's eyes as he stares into Rickar's.

"What are you saying?"

Rickar cannot believe he's going to do this… but he also can't seem to help himself.

"The prophecies speak of you too Theon Stark. They speak of the King in the North at the times of the Andals Invasion. South of the neck, the Andals WIN. All across the bottom half of Westeros, they will conquer the First Men and assimilate them into their culture. But it is YOU who holds them back in the North, you and your children and your children's children. There will come a time when the Andals are neighbors rather than foreigners. But that time is not now. No, now is for another time."

Theon looks almost entranced.

"… What time is that?"

Bearing his pearly whites in a savage grin, Rickar went for the kill.

"Now is the time that the Hungry Wolf sails across the Narrow Sea and lands on the shores of Andalos. Now is the time that Theon Stark, King in the North, leads his armies to take the fight to the foreigners on the lands where they are not foreign. You will defeat them here and turn their boats around on them. The Andals across the sea will not expect a thing until it is too late. Their own ships will prove their undoing."

There was the Hungry Wolf. Rickar could see it in Theon's face, in his gaze, in the way he was licking his lips like a dire wolf would lick its chops. He could almost see the wolf's head, superimposed on Theon's own for a long moment. Then, the King in the North leaned forward and his true face moved through the mental image as he stared at Rickar with those piercing blue eyes of his and asked a single, simple question.

"How?"

Luckily, Rickar had a plan.

-x-X-x-

I was reading one of my tomes when I felt it. Lyanna's rage was… incandescent. That was a nice word for it. Eyebrow raised, I carefully set the book aside so that it would not end up a senseless victim in what was about to happen. I stood and as I did so, Lyanna came into the room like a barely contained hurricane.

"DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR SON IS?! WHERE HE'S PLANNING ON GOING?!"

… I did, but somehow, I felt like the truth here would only set me back in this instance. Instead, I merely lifted a brow and stayed silent. In the face of my stoicism, Lyanna let out an impotent cry of rage.

"THAT FOOLISH BOY is on a boat right now you bastard! He's crossing the fucking sea! AND HE CUT ME OFF WHEN I TOLD HIM TO TURN HIS ASS BACK AROUND!"

Ah, there was the main issue. Lyanna did not like the fact that the bond between us and our children was… two-way, unlike mine with her and the other White Walkers. Rickar and Ayla could slip the leash so to speak, any time they wanted. I could not control them in the same way I controlled the others, in the same way I COULD control Lyanna if I so chose to.

It sounded like Rickar had done the equivalent of hanging up on Lyanna, only to leave the phone off the cradle afterwards. As a result, the beautiful White Walker was beside herself with fury, unable to do anything from this far away to punish the boy.

"… He IS centuries old Lyanna."

"HE IS MY SON! I DON'T CARE HOW OLD HE IS!"

Oh, NOW he was her son again, instead of simply mine. I valiantly manage to resist the urge to roll my eyes even as I step forward and reach out to place my hands on her arms. Lyanna jerks away from me and snarls.

"Don't touch me you bastard. This is all your fault! You're the one who let him go south!"

… I stare at her for a long moment.

"As I recall, someone wanted grandchildren."

"WELL I CAN'T VERY WELL GET THEM WITH HIM ON A BOAT FILLED WITH MEN, CROSSING THE SEA TO GO KILL OTHER MEN! GRRAAAAHHH!"

Hear the mama she-wolf roar, heh. This time, I wasn't able to keep the chuckle from coming out and I stiffened when her attention immediately focused on my slip up. A moment later Lyanna had launched herself at me. I let her take me to the ground, secure in the knowledge that she could not truly hurt me and willing to let her do some superficial damage if it got it out of her system.

My eyebrows lifted however, when Lyanna's hips began to gyrate against my crotch and I noticed an emotion besides impotent rage in her glowing blue gaze.

-x-X-x-

The female White Walker's hands moved swiftly as she practically dragged my rapidly hardening cock out of its confines with one hand, and exposed her pussy lips with the other. My own hands moved to her waist as she swiftly impaled herself on my cock with a grunt. It reminded me of fond memories of our early days in truth. Hate sex was one helluva drug after all.

The way Lyanna rode my cock was not slow or gentle or sensual. It was rough and fast and primal and I was there for it, one hundred percent of the way. Once she'd gotten a good bounce going, I thrust my hips up into her in time with her downward motion, driving myself even deeper into her amazingly tight cunt. The room was filled with nothing but the sounds of our grunts and other exclamations for several minutes, before suddenly Lyanna reached out and grabbed me by the neck.

She did not squeeze down, but she did lean in, something indiscernible in her eyes even as she continued to impale herself on my cock.

"You better knock me up this time you fucking bastard."

That sounded like more than dirty talk.

"What, you think I don't know? We fuck nearly daily and you leave your seed in me at least half as much. And still it took nearly two centuries for it to take. More than that, you only impregnated me with the twins AFTER I went to the Wall… AFTER I betrayed you and then came back begging for your forgiveness. Do you think me a fool my King? Because I am NOT."

Ah, she is cleverer than I've given her credit for. Lyanna's pace increases again and she's snarling into my face as she rides me harder and harder. Any human man would probably break under this sort of onslaught, but we're both made of hardier stuff.

"Eighteen hundred years. Eighteen HUNDRED YEARS! Put a fucking baby in my belly NO-OOF!"

I took control at the end there and Lyanna ended up in a rather uncomfortable position as I rose from the floor and took her with me. Her body weight was mostly supported on her neck and her shoulders, her head at an odd angle as she glared at me and her legs spread wide by my hands suddenly on her thighs. My shaft never left her cunt and as I plowed her from above, I gave her a toothy grin.

"As my Queen commands."

She didn't stop glaring at me of course, my words all but a confirmation of her suspicions. After all, she was right. I had control over Lyanna Stark and that transcended far beyond the mind. It was MY choice whether my seed reached her eggs. It was MY choice whether or not she got pregnant. Was it wrong that I'd essentially kept my Queen on birth control for over two thousand years, only 'letting her off it' after she'd run off with a human man, solely so that I could assert MORE control over her through our children?

Yes, it was undoubtedly wrong. But I was never a nice guy to begin with. I liked to think kids had mellowed me out some though, but I'd still not let Lyanna have any more after Ayla and Rickar… until now. True to my word, I'd make sure she got pregnant from this. She had earned that much from this little outburst.

I so did love when my she wolf showed her fangs. Forcing a reluctant orgasm from the blue skinned, white haired beauty beneath me, I let out a snarl of my own before finally cumming inside of her rapidly clenching pussy, depositing my seed right inside of her womb. The deed was done and I'd make sure she got pregnant from it… but that didn't mean I was done.

Lyanna found herself pinned face down next, forced prone as I laid out over her and thrust my cock, still hard, into her wet cunt once more. She grunted and snarled and clawed at the floor, but ultimately, she took my length as she always did, and in the end I melted her into a pool of pleasure, her anger and rage forgotten, light mewls falling from her lips.

My Queen would not be walking easy tomorrow. And in a few weeks, she'd be feeling the effects of what she'd demanded I do for her. I wondered if time had let Lyanna forget the… 'joys' of pregnancy. I supposed I was going to find out.

-x-X-x-

They came in the night, but there were still scouts to notice their launches and alert the Captains. The Andal Fleet was soon on high alert as a hundred darkened rowboats slowly made their way out towards the ships that were waiting out in the water. There was no possible way it was their men. There would have been signals from the beach if this latest wave had been victorious and there would be torches on the rowboats.

Captains across the Andal Fleet made the individual decisions to have their archers shoot the rowboats full of arrows. The result was a thousand arrows arcing through the air, the majority landing on the rowboats and turning them into pincushions. Yet still they kept coming. A slow burning fear began to build in the hearts of the Andal sailors. What kind of men kept rowing with arrows in their flesh?

Those still on the Andal ships had yet to face the First Men. Barely any had returned from the beach alive, perhaps one in a hundred making it back. As such, the horror stories had cropped up as one might expect and at this point, they weren't fighting heathen savages, they were fighting monsters from legend.

This merely added to the disarray in the fleet as sailors began to panic left and right. The Captains tried to keep order, but it was difficult to do so when they too were confused and uncertain as to what was happening. How were they doing this? How were the unarmored, uncultured heathens STILL rowing? In the darkness, it wasn't until the rowboats were right alongside the Andal Fleet that they finally understood, and by then it was too late. Courageous sailors, expecting to prove their fellow seamen cowards by exposing that the boats were full of dead men and had simply drifted this way by chance, shown torch light down on the rowboats as they arrived.

They did not see men filled with arrows. Instead, they saw a sheet of shields, painted with the sigils of Andal families and houses. On every rowboat, it was the same. The First Men had had no use for the Andals' shields until now. But now, under Rickar's advice… they were using them to great effect indeed. The Andal Fleet had only a second to react to this horrifying revelation, staring down at their own sigils from between the arrow shafts sticking out of them… and then the First Men MOVED, rising up from the rowboats, tossing the shields away, and leaping up onto the ships, climbing them and making their way to the main decks.

All across the fleet, this repeated itself. There were casualties of course, and one Andal ship even managed to repel the invaders… the first invaders anyways. The next came from one of their neighbor ships, as the First Men plowed one vessel into the other and sunk both in a roar of fire and a splintering of wood.

By morning, the back of the Andal fleet was broken and the Andals themselves were sleeping with the fishes. Meanwhile, Theon Stark stood at the helm of the biggest ship in the fleet with Rickar at his side. There was a wide, wolfish smile on the King in the North's face.

One might even call it hungry.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Honestly, I didn't realize I was like, the worst person ever until I got to the end of this chapter. But this really just made for the best stopping point sooo...**

 **This might be a bad time to mention that there might not be a chapter tomorrow night, as I have a 10,000-20,000 word commission to write for my job tomorrow. Dunno how long it'll take me and if I have to make it a two day project, this won't get a new chapter.**

 **Feel free to hate me :P**

 **I will say that this story isn't as Grimdark as Canon GoT and ASOIAF. You can rest easy knowing that much at least. I grow attached to my main characters, far, far too attached.**

 **-x-X-x-**

Some men just didn't take to travel by sea. Theon Stark wouldn't have expected his new wizard to be one of them though. The Hungry Wolf very rarely showed any kind of worry, especially around those that followed him. A confident, wolfish smile and a hunger in his eyes, that's what the North expected when they looked to him for guidance.

And so Theon Stark, King in the North, gave them what they wanted. And to be fair, it wasn't all an act. He was the kind of man who loved battle, who damn near LIVED for it. He'd probably spend the rest of his life fighting against these invaders, especially if what Rickar said about the 'Andals' south of the Neck was true. If the other kingdoms were falling even now as the North took the fight to their enemies, well then, the North would be defending itself from more than just the East, soon enough.

Still, Theon couldn't help but be a little worried. Coming to a stop at a particular cabin door, the King winced as he heard a loud groan from within. Lifting a fist, he knocked on the wood and called out at the same time.

"Rickar? It's Theon, I'm coming in!"

A groan was the only answer he got, so with pleasantries observed, Theon opened the door and stepped inside. Looking at Rickar caused him to feel the same kind of familiarness in his gut that it always did. Black hair, blue eyes. The man could have been his brother. There were legends about Starks in the distant past. There was warg and greenseer blood in their line. Was Rickar a distant cousin of his? The man had only mentioned that his mother was fond of the Starks. He'd not mentioned anything else.

Of course, besides his familiar looks, Rickar also just looked like absolute shit right now. The man was laid up in his cot, black hair matted down to his forehead, blue eyes turned into slits as he groaned and tossed back and forth.

"Fuck Rickar, if I'd known it'd be this bad for you, I wouldn't have brought you along. Never seen any man get this sea sick before."

Rickar groaned before shaking his head back and forth. Rather than this being him tossing and turning as he was when Theon walked in, it's instead a very clear negative gesture and the man manages to speak a few words a moment later.

"No… wanted to come… I'll… get over it."

"Heh, that's the spirit. Should be about two days out at this point, so long as the winds stay in our favor and so far they have. The Old Gods themselves bless our journey Rickar. They want us to take the fight to those Andal bastards, I can tell."

That got a derisive snort from the other man and Theon was amused as Rickar rolled his eyes. Even with his magic, the strange man didn't seem to put much faith in the Gods. It was an odd contradiction, as Theon had been raised to put the two side by side. Greenseers and Wargs came from the Children of the Forest, Children of the Forest worshipped the Old Gods and carved the heart trees. The connection was clear, yet Rickar paid no homage to any Old Gods.

"Didn't think… you… devout."

Theon laughed at that, a full belly laugh. Truth be told, he wasn't. His sister certainly was, but Theon himself had never been a very pious man. He shrugged and said as much.

"I ain't, you've got me there. Still, way I see it, the Old Gods and me might not be best of friends, but we've got a common enemy in these Andals. I figure, they might not have liked me for the title of King in the North back when I was just a boy trampling through their godswood, but now that I'm a man, fighting those who would destroy our weirwoods and our way of life, they have no choice but to embrace me. I'm the best chance they've got."

That gets a weak chuckle from Rickar and a careful nod as the sick man smiles wanly.

"Sounds… right."

"Course it does! I'm the King in the North Rickar, everything I say sounds right!"

Another weak chuckle, but that only provokes a coughing fit that results in Rickar doubled over the side of his cot, grabbing a bucket that rests there and sticking his head in it. Theon winces again as the smell of sick fills the air.

"Right, doesn't look like laughter is helping you much Rickar. I think I'll leave you to it. We'll make landfall soon and when we do, you'll be on the first boat to shore, alright?"

A simple nod was all the King got in response, but Theon already knew Rickar wasn't much for ceremony. That was good, because neither was the Hungry Wolf. Eyeing the bed-ridden man who had seemed so impossibly strong and intelligent and wise back on land, Theon turned and slipped back out of the cabin. It was an interesting reminder of the weakness of individuals in his opinion. One could be a King or a greenseer or a wizard, but in the end, there was always something out there, ready and able to bring a man low.

As Theon walked away from the cabin and out towards the deck of the ship he'd purloined from the Andals, he couldn't help but wonder what would bring HIM low. In a way, the Hungry Wolf was on a constant quest to find that thing. Perhaps if he could merely be defeated, one way or the other, he could finally settle down. Would the battle lust and hunger end if he was no longer victorious at every turn? Or would it merely grow tenfold in response to defeat?

Theon Stark's wolfish smile was on his face when he stepped out into the morning sun and his men turned to gaze at him. There were nods and bows and several respectful greetings and Theon distractedly answered all of them, even as he made his way across the deck, still deep in thought.

What would be his legacy? Would they call him the Hungry Wolf who sailed across a sea to bring vengeance down upon the foreign invaders, or would he reach too far, bite the wrong beast, and end up erased from history? No. Theon intended to make his mark to be sure, but that wasn't what this was about. His legacy was meaningless in the here and now. He could think about how he'd be remembered on his deathbed, whether that happened in a real bed or on a battlefield with a blade in his gut.

So long as he lived in good health, Theon Stark would not fight for legacy or glory. He asked the men of the North to fight for him and they did. It was only right that he fight for the North in return. Soon. Soon the Andals would know the cold bite of their blades and the words that every Stark child, nay, every Northern child learned from an early age.

Winter was coming and the Hungry Wolf with it.

-x-X-x-

"… YOU'RE the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch?!"

The young man that sat at the head of the table in the Lord Commander's position nodded slowly in response to the question thrown at him by one of the Wall's more recent arrivals. A small influx of about ten trainees had arrived the day previous. Nine were bastards or orphans hoping for any life to live that they could get their hands on, as the cold in the North wasn't very kind to those bereft of parents. The Night's Watch was essentially the only place in the North a lowborn man could go if they had nowhere else and were willing to sign their lives away.

"I am."

The tenth new arrival however, was a bit more annoying. The second son of some Northern Lord who hadn't quite gotten the memo that one didn't send their spares to the Wall anymore. Or perhaps he'd simply fucked the wrong wench, because the man in question was actually older than every brother that sat at the high table.

"You… you all are nothing but boys! Where is the real Lord Commander?! My father spoke highly of the man, said he'd been leading the Watch for decades!"

"He's gone."

The nobleman snarled at that, his hand dropping to the pommel of the finely crafted blade at his side. As he did so, every brother of the Watch in the hall grabbed the handles of their own weapons in response, but the young Lord Commander stood and raised a hand, staying them for the moment as he looked down from above at the new trainee. The nobleman looked around rather than meet his gaze, seeming to realize that he was quite outnumbered.

Still, the man would not back down so easily.

"This… this isn't right. What happened here, to leave the Night's Watch in the hands of a bunch of children?! Where have all the real men gone?!"

To be fair, there were men in the crowd of black cloaks that filled the hall. Men who were older than even the noble's son and plenty who were older than the nine other new trainees, who were currently dispersed throughout the hall, each looking rather nervous about their comrade's outburst. None stepped forward though, all were far too conditioned to obey a man of high birth like this.

"They died in a failed ranging. The Lord Commander took himself, the others, and three hundred sworn brothers beyond the Wall. Three days later, only a handful returned, the Lord Commander among them but dying. He named me as his replacement before he passed."

"Aye! I was there for both the ranging and the Lord Commander's words! Twas a foolish venture from start to finish, but the boy's words are true! The Lord Commander named him in command!"

A bearded brother spoke up from a nearby table, a big bloke who, when he stood, rose above most in the room. The nobleman had to look up at him, his mouth agape and dry at the sheer size of the man.

"Fuck's sake man, did your mother lay with a giant?"

There's a moment of silence, before the entire hall breaks out into raucous laughter. The nobleman flushes indignantly, as rather than laugh at his target, everyone seems to be laughing at him for some reason. Everyone but his fellow trainees, who are just as confused as he is. The huge man he'd thrown the insult at just snorts and sits back down, his piece said.

Eventually, the hall quiets and the nobleman turns his gaze back to the Lord Commander, who stares back at him in silence.

"Boy as young as you in charge of the Watch… s'not right. If none of the men here will say it, I will. You shouldn't be leading here. And if no one else will step up, then it should be me in charge. I should be Lord Commander!"

That starts another raucous, though this one is much angrier, until the young man up on the high table lifts a hand and silences the crowd.

"I would urge you to rethink those words. They tread dangerously close to treason."

The nobleman has a glint in his eye now.

"Aye, perhaps so. But only if you be craven. If you aren't a coward, you'll settle this in a duel between you and me, right now! Victor leads this sorry rabble to a better tomorrow."

After calling the young man craven, the noble has to raise his voice to say the rest, but by the time he's done speaking, a hush has fallen over the hall as everyone realizes what he's saying. It's the most blatant grab for power any of them have ever seen. But then, the Free Folk had hunger for power bred out of them centuries ago.

The blue handprint on the new Lord Commander's arm glows brightly and the young man who bears it smiles softly in response to the noble's words.

"Very well. I accept your challenge. Shall we?"

And with that, they were all headed outside. It took the nobleman some time to realize that none in the crowd were rooting for him. To be fair though, most weren't rooting for their young Lord Commander either. The majority of the Watchmen were just eager to see a fight from the sound of things. The other trainees ended up swept up in the festivities and soon enough, they and everyone else in the Nightfort was crowded around a cleared space in the middle of the courtyard, where the current Lord Commander and his challenger faced off.

The nobleman shirked off his cloak and drew his beautifully crafted bronze sword. The cold bit at him, but he pretended not to notice as he lifted his blade in the direction of his foe. Meanwhile, the boy he saw as playing at Lord Commander let his furs and cloak fall away as well, before pulling out a pair of short swords. He spun them in his hands once, twice, three times before holding them up.

It was not a style of fighting that the nobleman or any of the other trainees had ever seen. Two small swords? How were you supposed to properly guard or block a blade that had the strength of both arms behind it, with only one arm? Scoffing at the sight of the boy playing warrior, the nobleman grew more and more certain of his victory.

The two of them crept closer and closer, until eventually no one but they could hear each other over the cold winds.

"What do you think you're playing at boy? You find those in the armory and decide you liked how they looked spinning around like that? Put the swords down, kneel to me, and I'll let you live. Otherwise, you'll go down in history as not only the shortest reigning Lord Commander, but also the stupidest."

Rather than get angry or even stay calm as he had been up to this point, a wicked smile spreads across the young man's eyes.

"My God stands with me kneeler. Your Gods are dead. Who truly fights from a position of strength here?"

Nonplussed by the other man's words, yet unwavering in his desire to take the position of Lord Commander, the second son of some Northern Lord let out a shout and swung his blade down with all his strength, knowing without a doubt that this simple BOY would not be able to hold him back. He could even see it in his head, how the young man might lift up his blades to block, only for his eyes to widen in surprise as he was overwhelmed, his own weapons pushing back into his face, biting into his flesh, blood flowing from the cuts and-

The nobleman's eyes bulged as the young Lord Commander merely slipped past his slash with unnatural speed and thrust his two short swords point first into his enemy's neck. A moment later and the Lord Commander pulled his blades back, leaving the other man to fall back to the snowy ground as blood slipped from him at an incredibly fast rate. The second son of some Northern Lord died ignobly, right there on the ground, clutching at his ruined throat and dying in quite a grotesque way.

As he died, the undisputed Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had a soft smile on his face, basking in the approval of his Master. He stepped to the side of the nobleman's spasming form and picked up the well-crafted sword from nerveless fingers.

"Trainees! Step forward!"

The nine that had arrived at the Wall at the same time as the man dying at the Lord Commander's feet tensed up, but were all ultimately pushed out into the circle by the men around them. They stood there uncertainly as the Lord Commander, his own blades sheathed once more, walked to them with the dying man's sword in hand.

There was a moment of silence as the leader of a new Night's Watch stared into the eyes of each young man before him. When the moment passed, he smiled and lifted up the nobleman's sword so that the few rays of sunlight moving through the clouds could catch on the flat of its blade.

"This is a fine weapon. It will no doubt see much use. You lot… all of you have harsh training ahead of you. But I think each of you will get through it and soon enough, you will stand before me as sworn brothers of our Watch."

A pause as his smile grows slightly upon the quieting of the nobleman. The dying man is dying no longer. Now, he is simply dead.

"Still… there is no reason not to motivate you all a bit more. The best among you will receive this blade, as a gift and a reminder of your devotion to the Night's Watch. There are no bastards or orphans here. Only brothers. You will learn that soon enough."

The trainees all bow their heads and the Lord Commander just smiles wider. There's no dismissal, the crowd simply departs all on its own. Everyone goes back to their work, the nobleman's corpse lying where he died. And if by morning it's gone, well, no one cares to notice, even if none of them did anything about it.

-x-X-x-

Stepping foot on Essos had not been the boon that Rickar hoped for. While it was slightly better than being out at sea, he still felt unbelievably weak on this new continent. It had taken all of his frayed focus and concentration to maintain his disguise during the horrible voyage to get here, and even now, back on land, it continued to take all of his strength to keep it up.

Rickar was beginning to think White Walkers were not meant to come to Essos. But then why had his father's writings not warned him? Had his father not known? The idea that the Night King might not know something was simply absurd to his son. And yet… and yet Rickar felt stripped of his power and stripped of his magic. Only the disguise remained and barely at that.

Theon's hand suddenly slapped against his back and Rickar nearly flew forward into the sands, barely catching himself as he grunted. When he looked to the Hungry Wolf, Theon looked slightly guilty.

"Ah, not quite back to full strength yet Rickar? My apologies. Do you think you should sit this first village out perhaps?"

The burning, pillaging and looting of the village only a few hundred yards from the shoreline was already beginning. The Andals of Andalos were not prepared in the slightest for Northmen from Westeros to arrive on Andal ships. The welcoming party from the village had been put to the sword and now the village itself was on fire. Swallowing thickly, Rickar nodded.

"Yeah… yeah that sounds like a good idea. Just a bit longer and I'm sure I'll be fine."

Theon just grinned and nodded, leaving Rickar to his 'recovery' and heading off to lead his men in not-so-glorious raiding. The Northmen didn't really care if there was honor in this warfare though. They were hungry, one and all, for revenge.

Only, as hours turned into days and days turned into weeks, Rickar did not recover. In fact, he steadily got worse. He managed to hide it, mostly anyways, and eventually Theon assumed he was back at full strength as Rickar joined him on a few raids. They burned villages and destroyed towers across the coast of Andalos for several weeks, never stopping for long. Slowly but surely, the fleet of ships they'd used to cross the narrow sea got heavy with loot of all sorts.

All the while, Rickar longed for home. He should never have crossed the Narrow Sea. He should never have come to Essos. Funnily enough, it would be the sept that proved his ultimate undoing.

"Come Rickar! I wish to see one of their places of worship. I wish to tear it apart like they do to our godswoods. It will be… what's the word you use? It will be cathartic."

Smiling weakly, Rickar simply nodded and followed the King and a small force of Northmen to the sept, which lay a bit further inland than anywhere else they'd attacked and raised to the ground. The holy place was not well-guarded and ultimately, the clergy, Septons and Septas as they called themselves, surrendered to the invaders almost immediately.

Rickar followed the King in the North into the Sept, gazing around appreciatively at the beauty and artistic value of such a place, even as he knew Theon would not let it stand. The Hungry Wolf came to a stop in front of a small religious icon, embossed in gold and made out of a very distinctive wood. Rickar grimaced as he realized exactly what it was.

The icon, meant to represent the Father of the Andals' Seven God religion, was made mainly of weirwood. Theon's hand curled around it and tightened angrily as he looked to the cowering men and women off to the side.

"This… this is weirwood. Oh now, I may not be a religious man, but I know blasphemy when I see it. BRING ME A TORCH!"

In no time at all, a lit torch is in Theon's hand and he's running it along the bottom of the religions icon. As it begins to burn, Rickar's eyes drift over the Septons and Septas watching this defamation. He's the only one who is, as every other Northman is grinning and staring at flames slowly consuming the icon. As such, it is only Rickar who sees one of the Septas pull a dagger from her robes. It is only Rickar who can react in time as she suddenly screams in rage and rushes Theon.

The King in the North is in no position to defend himself, even as his men try and fail to react in time. Once again, Rickar saves Theon Stark's life, pushing him out of the way and taking the blow himself. This time however, the blade goes right into his gut as the enraged Septa, blinded by her tears, shrieks and twists harshly. Rickar's eyes widen at the most pain he's ever felt in his long life and then the woman is being dragged away from him.

His hand closes around the handle of the blade in his stomach as he falls back to the floor. Theon is above him, staring down at him with wide eyes and shouting something at him that Rickar can't hear. Why can't he hear? Huh, the blackness is creeping in fast. Rickar tries to lift an arm up towards Theon, for what purpose he does not know. That's when he sees the blue on the back of his hand.

Oh. Well, shit.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: All good things come to an end and sometimes, words don't make everything better. In which Rickar tries to skate by on the seat of his pants like he's been doing since he got caught peeping on Lady Stark in Winterfell. Unfortunately, there's an end to every journey and every friendship.**

 **History ends up repeating itself in the oddest way imaginable. (Even I didn't see this coming...)**

 **-x-X-x-**

On some level, Rickar hadn't expected to open his eyes again. He really didn't have that much time to contemplate or expect anything. It had all happened so fast, the iron dagger piercing his leather jerkin and digging into his belly like no other man-made weapon had ever done before. He was so used to being impervious. Even weakened as he was, he hadn't thought himself that vulnerable. It had very nearly ended his life.

When he finally DID awaken, he was on land but feeling surprisingly good. There was a cool, crisp breeze in the air and he was in some kind of cart that was rolling down a road. The trees told him he was back on Westeros somehow, the wooden bars told him he was in a moving cage of some sorts. Rickar grimaced and wince as he slowly rose from where he lay and placed a hand to his head. That's when he saw the blue out of the corner of his eye and remembered the OTHER thing that had happened.

Staring at his very blue hands and sharp claw-like nails, Rickar gaped in horror. Well shit, that explained the cage. Didn't explain his survival though. Bringing his hand down to his belly, he found bandages… and nothing else. He was stripped of everything but his breeches, his blue toes wiggling and his torso exposed to the world.

What… what had happened? Where was he? How had he gotten back to Westeros, to the North?

"He's awake… HE'S AWAKE!"

Rickar's glowing blue eyes widened and his gaze snapped around as he saw the guard that had been plodding along next to the cart this entire time staring at him in horror and terror. He'd missed the man at first, but to be fair, he had more important things to worry about. The Northman promptly freaked out when Rickar looked at him and broke into a dead sprint. The caravan that Rickar was part of and had also missed until now, stuttered to a stop as the guard's screams filled the air.

"THE WALKER IS AWAKE! THE WHITE WALKER IS AWAKE!"

… Fuck.

-x-X-x-

Theon Stark wasn't one for crying. But he wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd leaked tears more than once on their way back to Westeros, to Winterfell. It was the only place he knew for sure held dragonglass. Theon had been conflicted, after what happened in that bloody blasphemous sept. Not over what needed to be done to the woman who almost killed him, nor over what needed to be done to her fellows and their place of worship. It had ALL burned. The men and women, the Sept itself, even the gold. Theon hadn't felt much like looting after Rickar took a knife for him and became… what he became.

There had of course been a few moments in which Theon demanded answers. How?! How had the foreigners managed to turn one of his own into a White Walker straight out of the legends?! A single knife had somehow done it, but the blade was made of nothing but iron. It was not a material that the First Men had much experience with, but even under heavy torture, the Septons and Septas hadn't been able to explain what happened. They all had burned for their treachery.

To say Theon was conflicted would be an understatement in actuality. He was fucking confused as hell and questioning himself at every turn. In the end, he'd settled on a compromise. Rickar, or the thing that he'd become, had been granted treatment, as best they could manage… and then he'd been tied up in rope and chains. Five men guarded him at all times as they made their way back to Westeros, back to the one place where Theon knew he could kill the White Walker, if it woke up and proved hostile.

It had not woken up on the return voyage, though it'd tossed and turned and sweated and groaned just as Rickar had done the first time across the sea. Theon had half-expected it to die at some point. He'd half-hoped it would so it stopped being his problem. But no, when it reached land it had not been dead and instead, it'd actually grown calm. The Northmen had continued on their way back to Winterfell, back to the Stark stash of dragonglass that still rested in the crypts, hidden with Brandon the Builder, first of them, best of them.

Now though, now the creature wearing Rickar's body was awake and staring at him. Theon had ridden back along the caravan the moment word reached him, to find the White Walker sitting cross-legged in the middle of his cage. A hundred Northmen surrounded him, weapons drawn and eyes flighty as they all squirmed like women.

Theon didn't reprimand them. The moment those glowing blue eyes turned to regard him, he felt a bit like a woman as well. The King in the North steeled himself though and slowly dismounted his horse, moving to stand before the cage on its cart. His hand rested on the pommel of a particularly fine iron sword sheathed at his sword and he pressed his lips tightly together, before asking a question he felt he already knew the answer to.

"Rickar… are you in there?"

He was surprised to see… well, surprise on the White Walker's face. The emotion blossomed across that blue skinned, blue eyed countenance and it made the inhuman monster look slightly more human, for all of a moment.

"… Yes? Theon, your Grace… I'm right here."

It sounded a little like Rickar, but there was a strangeness to the voice that hadn't been there before. Theon wanted to believe, even as his men all grew even more nervous, more antsy at hearing Rickar speak their King's name.

"Rickar, look at yourself. Surely you see what you've become. What THEY turned you into."

The White Walker did as he was told and glanced down at his body. But when he looked back up, there was confusion in those glowing blue eyes. As inhuman as Rickar's appearance now was, the myriad of emotions that kept appearing on his face was making it hard to reconcile him with the cold, expressionless monsters that Theon had heard about from the myths and legends of Westeros' past.

"I… who is they Theon?"

Now, the Hungry Wolf was beginning to get a bit annoyed.

"The fucking foreigners! The Andals as you call them! That woman stabbed you with her damn dagger and you… you became this! I don't know how they did it, I don't know what foul magic they used, but we burned them and their fucking Sept to the ground, I can assure you of tha-!"

Theon stopped talking, eyes wide. It was rare that the King in the North cut himself off. But then it was also rare for anyone to have the audacity, the balls to laugh while he was speaking. Rickar, or the White Walker he'd become, was laughing, had started laughing in the middle of Theon's little rant. The new lilt to his voice made the chuckle unnerving to all those within earshot.

"Quit it! Quit laughing! Rickar!"

It was his name that finally calmed the monster down. He finally stopped and held up a blue, clawed hand, palm out.

"S-Sorry… sorry, I apologize your Grace, I apologize. Theon… the Andals did not turn me into this. This is my true form."

Theon is physically taken aback. As in, he literally takes a step back, he's so shocked by the bold declaration. His men are even worse, gasps and shouts and weapons being waved about. Rickar ignores them though, staring only at him. The Hungry Wolf has never felt cornered before, until now. But no… no Theon does not believe it. He chooses not to. Which leaves only one option. He speaks and his voice carries, silencing those around him as they listen to their King.

"No! No. You… Rickar was not this. You are not him. You are the monster that they turned him into, attempting to trick me into believing that you-."

Yet again, Theon is forced to cut himself off. The King in the North is strong, as all men who hold the title have to be. That doesn't stop him from getting just a tad choked up when the White Walker shifts right before his eyes, shadows reaching up and gripping blue skin, white hair changing to black, glow fading fading from strikingly blue eyes. In moments, Rickar sits before him once more, completely renewed and seemingly human.

"I am he Theon. I am Rickar. I wish you hadn't had to find out like this, if I had my way, you never would have found out at all. Unfortunately, this seems to be where fate has led us. My secret is revealed."

There's a clamor all around him. It's even worse now. His men want to kill Rickar right there on the spot, as if they've already forgotten he's a White Walker under that seemingly human guise. Before Theon can act, can say anything else, one over eager Northman rushes forward with a spear in hand. It slides through the bars of Rickar's cage and Theon can only watch in wide eyed horror as it plunges towards the imprisoned man's heart.

And then it strikes Rickar's chest and the bronze blade atop the spear shatters, even as the man's hand snaps up and he grabs the haft, pulling it free of its owner's grasp and breaking it into two right there. Rickar never moves from his seated position, but the attempt on his life is a complete failure nonetheless. There's an undercurrent of fear now as the Northerners surrounding the cart stand frozen in the face of an invincible man.

Theon can tell that his men are a hairbreadth away from either attacking en masse or running away. He speaks up before they can decide.

"ENOUGH! I said that's enough! Stand down! All of you! Rickar! Explain this! Explain ALL of this!"

There's a pause as silence once again reigns over the clearing. Theon glares daggers at the man, the White Walker who's saved his life twice now. Rickar stares back for a moment, before letting out a long sigh.

"I am my father's son."

More vague answers. Theon could practically hear his own teeth grinding together as he responded.

"What. Does. That. Mean?!"

Another pause as Rickar tried to find the right words. Theon's patience was growing thin, but eventually an answer came.

"You would call him an Old God I suppose. You and your people think that you worship him and his kin at the heart trees in your godswoods. The truth is far worse of course, but that is what he is. My appearance, my strength, my power, it all comes from my father. As I said, I am my father's son."

There's some confused murmuring going on now as Theon tries to process this.

"You are a White Walker, you are not a God of the Forest."

Rickar just nods his head.

"That is what the Children tried to label us when they attempted to rewrite the histories, when they succeeded in filling the heads of your ancestors with lies that have been passed down from generation to generation."

"What?"

Theon's tone is incredulous, but the one-word question affords Rickar the chance to elaborate. As he does so, only then does the King in the North realize that the man WANTS to talk, that Rickar wants to be heard by those all around them.

"You knew my father and his lieutenants as White Walkers, monsters that came during the Long Night and were eventually repelled by legends such as Brandon the Builder and the Last Hero. That is the history you have been taught. It is not entirely wrong, but it IS missing quite a bit of context."

Rickar's voice was strangely hypnotic as he continued speaking, and the hundred Northmen surrounding his cage were silent, hanging onto every word he said.

"Before the First Men came to Westeros, there were the Children of the Forest and their Gods. The Children worshipped my father and his fellows. Gods of Rivers and Mountains, Gods of Snow and Sand, and yes, Gods of the Forest that the Children were tied so close to. And then your ancestors arrived from Essos and the Children found themselves fighting a war of survival."

Another pause, yet still no one spoke.

"At first, my father and his kin helped the Children. The First Men were attacking not just the Children of the Forest, but their very way of life, which the Gods themselves were intrinsically connected to. However, the wars between First Men and Children dragged on for hundreds and then thousands of years. Those who came across to Westeros in the first place died off, replaced with generation after generation born in this land."

Rickar smiled slightly.

"These later First Men were the ones who adopted the Children's religion as their own. Even as they fought the Children of the Forest for the right to live and thrive on this new land they'd found, they turned to the spirits of nature that resided on it and began to pay tribute to these new Gods. And of course, when tribute was paid, my father's kin pulled away from the conflict. It became less a war for survival, and more a battle between their worshippers. It was no longer their problem."

Rickar's smile slips away as his tone becomes dark.

"The Children of the Forest did not see it that way. They felt betrayed and they turned on their Gods with a vengeance. The Gods of the Forest fell first. The Gods of the Rivers and Plains soon followed. Those of the Mountains and the Sand went last, until all that remained was one. My father."

Despite himself, Theon finds a single word slipping through his lips.

"Snow…"

Rickar's smile is filled with sharp teeth as he nods.

"Precisely. The Children of the Forest called my father the Night King. He is a Spirit of Ice and Cold and Snow. He is the freeze, he is the winter. Your house words speak of HIM when they say Winter is Coming. The Children took their time destroying their Gods and by the time they finished, they no longer cared to war with the First Men. Ironically, an accord was struck and peace between your ancestors and them was had for a time."

Shaking his head, Rickar flares his nostrils as he blows out a breath.

"My father does not forgive or forget so easily though. His is a cold rage, Theon. It does not burn hot, nor does it burn fast. But if you attract his ire, he will have his revenge. The Long Night was not a battle for the Dawn or a fight for the salvation of the World. The Long Night was my father, last of his kind, coming down from his realm too rain damnation on the Children of the Forest. He chased them where ever they hid and he slaughtered them until they were forever broken. Your heroes did not push him back. He simply finished what he started, turned around, and left your ancestors in peace."

Rickar was done, judging by the way he leaned back, his striking blue eyes no longer drilling into Theon's skull. It feels like his head is pounding, but the King in the North still manages to find a question in the mess of words he's currently trying to process internally.

"You say… you say he was the last. What are you, if not evidence that that is not true?"

Rickar doesn't look surprised or taken aback as Theon had hoped. Instead, the man simply shrugs.

"As I said, I am my father's son. But I am no God. When the Long Night ended, the Night King took a bride and began a family, to replace those kin he had lost to the Children of the Forest. I am a product of that union and while I am certainly not human, I am still young, still mortal."

Theon's brain was STILL trying to catch up, though at least he was doing better than the men all around the two of them. And yet, even as he struggled to process it all, he kept finding little nuggets within Rickar's explanation that sent his mind in interesting directions.

"He took a bride… he took… Rickar. What is your mother's name?"

For the first time, Rickar looks taken aback. For the first time, the other man, the man who has always felt familiar to Theon in this human guise of his, looks sheepish and a bit worried.

"My mother? She's not any different than me if that's what you're askin-."

"Rickar! Damn you, what is her name?!"

"… Lyanna."

"Lyanna Stark."

It's a statement, not a question. Rickar answers anyways, hanging his head, knowing as well as Theon what it means.

"Yes."

Finally, something for Theon to latch onto. Something that he understands, that apparently the histories he's been raised on got right. And as he connects the dots, he comes to another realization as well.

"Your father kidnapped Brandon the Builder's sister, raped her, and created you."

"It wasn't rap-!"

Its Theon's turn to cut the other man off.

"And you! You came to Winterfell to repeat your father's crime, didn't you?! You were after my sister this entire time you damn bastard! And to think, if you hadn't been revealed, if your secrets had stayed secret, I would have given her to you gift wrapped, proud to call you my good brother!"

Rickar let out a sigh, his eyes squeezing shut and his hand coming up to rub the bridge of his nose as he simply sighed.

"Theon, I had no intention of kidnapping your sister. YES, I came to your lands looking for a bride, but at my MOTHER's request, not my father's. You are twisting things. My mother and father have had their differences these past two thousand years, but my father did not rape my mother to beget me and my sister."

"… How can I believe a word you say Rickar? Everything I know tells me that you and those like you are evil. And now you confirm your father's crime against House Stark, not even mentioning all the First Men he and his killed in their pursuit of the Children of the Forest!"

"A crime perhaps, but a crime committed two thousand years ago Theon! My mother is happy where she is! If anyone exists that can forgive my father his trespass, it is HER and she has forgiven him!"

"Once again, we come back to the simple truth that you have lied to me about everything up until this point. How can I believe a word you say, when you wield words like a weapon?!"

A moment of silence passes. Theon is breathing hard while Rickar sits motionless. Eventually, the caged man speaks.

"You will not be swayed."

"I will not."

"Then what now?"

Theon pauses briefly and gives the question serious thought.

"… We will continue on to Winterfell. I will decide what to do with you when we arrive. You saved my life twice, but to what end, I know not. I must think on your fate."

"No."

The King in the North's eyes widen in outrage and then surprise when Rickar answers with that simple word, before standing up. A moment later, the wooden cage hastily crafted to hold him is no more and the disguise that hid his true nature melts away. There is nothing between the White Walker atop his demolished cart, and the hundred Northmen surrounding him. Yet… none of them are armed with dragonglass.

"No?"

Theon inwardly curses the slight undercurrent of wariness in his voice. He'd hoped to sound commanding, forceful. He'd hoped to sound like his father when the man lifted an eyebrow and repeated a particularly foolish statement from one of his children back to them, as if he was incredibly disappointed with their idiocy. Staring into those glowing blue eyes, he'd failed to capture that essence.

Rickar's lips curled into a smile, but there was no happiness in it.

"No, I think not Theon Stark, King in the North. You have no authority over me. You do not even carry dragonglass, with which to put me down. None of you can stop me from leaving if I so choose."

Rickar is right and Theon knows it. And yet, in the end there is only one thing the Hungry Wolf can say, even if he says it without a trace of hunger in his voice. Instead, his tone is resigned as he speaks and his men instinctively obey.

"Take him."

The battle is short and by the end of it, Rickar has Theon pinned to the ground with a simple knife to his throat, stolen from the belt of one of his men. The groans and whimpers and moans of pain from all around him speak to the White Walker's mercy, but that doesn't truly help when Theon is staring up into those fathomless, swirling blue eyes.

"… I'm sorry Theon. I wish things could have been different."

And then Rickar was gone, faster than Theon's eyes could track, disappearing off the road and into the trees to who the hell knew where.

Theon would find out exactly where Rickar had went when he reached Winterfell a week later, only to find it in a panic over an abrupt White Walker attack… and a missing Lady Stark.

-x-X-x-

I sit up, blinking dumbly as the connection with my son that has lain dormant for months now suddenly flares to life from his end. I 'listen' for a long moment before letting out a single sound.

"Huh."

It's enough to stir Lyanna beside me. The ethereal beauty sits up, her hand going to her slight baby bump. My Queen has just started showing.

"What? What is it?"

I look to Lyanna, internally questioning why my son has not contacted her as well, instead leaving me to deal with his mother's wrath. Ah, and now I've answered my own question. Well…

"… Our son is returning home my Queen. He will reach the Wall in a matter of days."

Lyanna's face lights up with a bright smile, pure and honest joy filling her glowing blue eyes.

"That's wonderful!"

Then her face does a one eighty as she frowns deeply.

"… Why is he not telling me this himself?"

I let out an explosive sigh, knowing my Queen's reaction already, yet giving her the information Rickar has relayed to me all the same.

"Because he's coming North with King Stark and his entire god damn army chasing him."

"What?! WHY THE HELL WOULD THEY BE DOING THAT?!"

"Besides the fact that he is the embodiment of their greatest nightmare made flesh? Well, it seems in his quest to gain your approval and bring you grandbabies, our son… may have chosen the current Lady Stark as his new bride."

Lyanna's face is blank, emotionless and expressionless. But I'm not done.

"He also may have kidnapped her and is currently bringing her North with him against her will."

I wait a beat and then I say something that will direct much of Lyanna's anger and fury and rage towards me and off of our wayward son. Because I'm a good father, even if I'm not a good man by any stretch of the word. Plastering a smile on my face, I give Lyanna a devil may care shoulder shrug and speak the fateful words that will redirect her ire solely to me.

"… Like father like son, hm?"

The blow up begins a moment later. Luckily, my Queen cannot kill me, or I'm quite sure she'd try.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: I don't normally do end of chapter Author's Notes, but I kind of feel like this has to be said. I did NOT sit down to write this Chapter. I sat down to write a Chapter where Rickar told his story and Theon listened and eventually, once again, Rickar managed to talk his way out of shit, leading to the bromance continuing and some victory celebration at Winterfell that would in turn lead to Rickar and this generation's Lyanna getting together.**

 **But as I was writing this, Theon Stark, Hungry motherfucking Wolf that he is, grabbed me by the shoulders through the computer screen and shook me silly, as if to say "Do you see how DUMB that is?!"**

 **And so this was born. The bromance dies unfortunately. Theon Stark is marching on the Wall, with no idea of what he's going to face in the North. The Night King's plans to try and keep canon looking slightly like canon are fraying even further.**

 **This is the nature of the story. Even I don't know what's going to happen WHILE I'm writing each chapter. My best work has always written itself though, flowing from my fingertips but seeming to come from some place other than my conscious mind.**

 **... Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. =)**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: This is admittedly kind of a filler chapter, but I still feel it needed to happen. I wanted to give the Lady Stark some agency if nothing else.**

 **Thing is, posting once a day, I feel like I deserve to get away with a filler chapter every once in a while. Hope you guys agree... and enjoy the byplay here at the very least~**

 **-x-X-x-**

She was in the godswood when it happened, once more praying at the heart tree. One might think she spent too much time in the godswood, praying for her damn infuriating brother. After all, how else does one react to a raven that speaks of White Walkers found across the sea. She wanted to know more… of course she did. Unfortunately, there was never enough room on the small piece of parchment one could tie to a trained raven's leg. More than that, it felt like Theon was being purposefully vague and general in his wording.

Frustrating to say the least and so she'd come to pray yet again. She was about fifteen minutes in when the faint sounds of screaming and shouting reached her ears. The Lady Stark immediately stood and pulled her shortsword from its sheathe. Eyes wide, the she-wolf made her way out of the godswood at a quick, yet careful pace. What she found once she'd returned to Winterfell Proper horrified her though.

"WHITE WALKER! THERE'S A WHITE WALKER APPROACHING FROM THE EAST! WIGHTS FROM ALL SIDES! FIGHT YOU DAMN BASTARDS! STAND AND FIGHT!"

The shouts, now clear, were one thing. But the wights already inside their walls, tackling and pinning warriors to the ground, were far more terrifying. Lady Stark's beautiful blue eyes dilated in fear and she immediately swung around to face the Stark Ancestral Crypt. Pressing her lips together tightly, she moved in that direction. The short sword in her hand would do her no good and the Lady Stark knew that she was the only one in Winterfell that knew where the dragonglass was hidden.

Theon's missive had not sounded so urgent. In fact, he'd told her personally not to reveal the dragonglass before he'd returned. But if the White Walker was besieging Winterfell… w-was it the same one that he and his men had captured? Or was this another? If the former was the case, her brother was dead, his army was probably what made up the wights attacking their walls. If she came face to face with her brother's dead eyes, could she stab dragonglass into his heart?

Unshed tears formed in the woman's eyes, even as she hurried to her destination, first slipping inside the crypt and then practically sprinting down the underground hall, past the statues of those who had come before her, all the way to the far, far end. Lady Stark chose to believe that this was another White Walker. She chose to believe that Theon was still on his way back with his army, prisoner in tow. That meant, all Winterfell had to do was hold out until he made it back.

Or, she could personally gut the White Walker bastard trying to invade her home with a dragonglass dagger. That plan sounded far better, absolutely lovely in fact. A vicious, bloodthirsty grin grew across the Lady Stark's face as she finally arrived at Brandon the Builder's tomb. Luckily, the men in charge of such things had replaced the torches in the crypts as they were supposed to each day. The Starks of Winterfell, even those laying in their tombs, were never meant to go cold.

Pulling a torch from the wall, the she-wolf moved to Brandon the Builder's visage and then she moved past it, to the side of his tomb where a lever lay. Her ancestor truly had been an absolute genius. Licking her lips, Lady Stark pulled the wooden thing and the ground opened up, revealing a staircase beneath the man's stone coffin that went down into the darkness. She happily descended down it, using her torch to wade off the cold and the dark.

At the bottom was a vault that only those with Stark blood in them were ever told about or even shown. The vault did not contain gold or gems or treasure of any sort really. It was filled with something that most, in their ignorance, would call beyond useless. The Lady Stark stared at the walls filled with glittering black and smiled. She stood in the center of a room laden with dragonglass weaponry, relics of a war two millennia ago… a war returned to their doorstep now.

All of this would no doubt see use in the coming days if they were lucky, but for now, she only needed one weapon. One weapon and she would end the White Walker who threatened Winterfell. Licking her lips, the she-wolf reached out for a dragonglass sword hanging from the wall. She was just about to grasp it when a voice rang out, startling her.

"Lady Stark! Lady Stark, we must get you to safety!"

Spinning around, the blue-eyed beauty's brow furrowed as she found a Northman standing there at the base of the stairs, ten or fifteen feet away, his features somewhat obscured by the shadows. He had a hand outstretched towards her.

"You… how did you find me here?"

"I saw you entering the crypt and followed you milady. Please, we must go before the wights hunt us down and we're trapped."

Despite herself, the she-wolf takes a step towards the man, and then another. Her torch held in one hand and her shortsword held in the other, she squints in the darkness, even as she rebukes the Northman.

"No, this is the safest place for us right now. Against the wights, against the White Walker. I came down here to get a weapon, one of these weapons. With dragonglass and a bit of luck, we… can… you!"

She can see the man's features now. She recognizes them well, with his pitch-black hair and angled face and blue eyes. Lady Stark stares at the face of the man who'd been spying on her in the godswood, who'd she'd sent on to join her brother's army, his ear in her hand as she personally dragged him to the cart. The man grimaced when the exclaimed word left her throat.

The she-wolf gaped. How could he be here?

"Ah… yes, me. So you remember me. If I'd been a bit less rushed, I might have thought to change my disguise. Unfortunately, time is shorter than I'd like. Damn, this would have been far easier if you were just a little meeker Lady Stark."

Her eyes widened in outrage at those words, but they stayed wide from terror, as the handsome man suddenly shifted and transformed before her eyes, the shadows almost seeming to fall away from him to reveal the White Walker that lay beneath. To her credit, Lady Stark immediately turned around and moved for the nearest dragonglass, dropping the torch to the ground as she went

The White Walker was faster though and her wrists were grabbed, pulled behind her back as her bronze shortsword was forced from her hand as well. She snarled and shrieked and struggled against the White Walker's grip, but ultimately to no avail as he carefully but swiftly dragged her out of the dragonglass vault and up the staircase, back to the Stark Ancestral Crypt.

The fighting was still going on above and she could only hope that Winterfell's defenders were winning. That hope died when the White Walker's cold breath suddenly blew past her ear.

"I'm here for you Lady Stark. Quit fighting me, come quietly, and my wights will withdraw from Winterfell. None of your people have died and none of them need die, so long as you submit, right here, right now."

Shuddering, the she-wolf processed the White Walkers' words and ultimately went limp as he continued to drag her along. The next thing she knew, they were above ground again and the inhuman monster that held her prisoner was binding her hands behind her back with rope. The fighting was still going on all around them as he moved with purpose, but when she looked around, she saw that for some reason, the White Walker was telling the truth. The wights had not killed and those they'd captured were in fact merely captured, pinned to the ground.

Many of these pinned men saw her. Many called out, screaming for her or yelling at the White Walker to let her go. Instead, the monster picked her up and laid her over his shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes, carrying her out of Winterfell's fallen gates without a single ounce of concern. She struggled and kicked a bit of course, shouting her anger at being treated so disrespectfully… but it was to no avail.

At the very least, the last thing Lady Stark saw of her home as she was carried off was the wights rushing back over the walls, leaving Winterfell in droves and forming up as a mass around her and her captor.

Lyanna Stark, sister to the Hungry Wolf, tried to stay strong. But it was hard, oh so hard. Weaponless, defenseless, helpless… the tears began to fall from her eyes and sobs wracked the poor woman's frame as the enormity of her situation began to hit her.

-x-X-x-

Rickar had felt bad when the Lady Stark had begun crying shortly after their departure from Winterfell. To be fair though, he'd felt bad in general. Her tears had merely compounded her already existing guilt. Still, he was beginning to prefer her sorrow over… this.

"My brother will come for you bastard. You may have kept me from the dragonglass, but you still left it behind for him you moron. He will assemble the greatest host of Northmen that you've ever seen. He will march beyond the Wall, each of his warriors armed with dragonglass. You and your damn kind will die with black blades buried in your hearts."

Rickar let out an explosive sigh. In a moment of weakness, he'd told the woman that her brother still lived, as did his men. Given he'd gone out of his way to avoid killing anyone in Winterfell, she'd chosen to believe him. He almost wished she hadn't, because now the damn she-wolf was sure that Theon Stark would come for her.

To be fair, she wasn't wrong. Even now, as they got closer and closer to the Wall, Rickar watched through the few undead scouts he'd left behind back in the forests surrounding Winterfell. He had observed Theon Stark's arrival and he had watched the man react with understandable rage when he found out about the disappearance of his sister. Now there were Northmen traveling across the whole of Westeros' top half and Theon was already leading his vanguard towards the Wall, each man armed with dragonglass and carts of the stuff trailing behind them in a massive caravan.

The King in the North intended to assemble his host at the Wall, just as the Lady Stark predicted. Theon would go beyond the Wall not just to save his sister, but in a misguided attempt to end the perceived threat of the White Walkers once and for all.

… Rickar had definitely fucked this up something fierce. Still, at least he was almost back at the hidden entrance to the tunnel that would allow him to head North. He would meet up with his father, apologize profusely, and do whatever the man told him to do. The Night King would know what needed to be done. His father wou-

The White Walker stopped dead, Lady Stark still ranting and raving on his shoulder as he stared at where the entrance to the tunnel had been. It was caved in, destroyed, ruined. He suddenly wished he HADN'T sent most of the wights he'd raised back to their eternal slumber. He'd just felt guilty about desecrating so many damn graves… his guilt really was fucking things up more for him right now.

Letting out a groan, Rickar turned and began to head for the next tunnel entrance. It was only an hour away and he cou-

Rickar. Come to the Nightfort. Now.

His father's voice rang through his head and brooked no argument as Rickar grimaced and gasped at the sheer 'volume' behind the mental image. His father was NOT happy. Still, the Nightfort? He didn't understand why, but he also didn't dare disobey. An explosive sigh left his lips this time and he headed that way.

"Do you… do you even know where you're going? You've turned around TWICE in as many minutes! Are you stupid or something? Do you even have a plan for getting past the Wall?"

Rickar's glowing blue eyes slowly squeezed shut in exasperation as his kidnap victim continued to act more like the disgruntled wife he wished to make her, rather than a damn prisoner! This… was going to be a long walk.

-x-X-x-

Lady Lyanna Stark didn't know what to make of any of this anymore. The White Walker lugging her around like a sack over his shoulder was either an idiot or the most inexplicable creature she'd ever had the misfortune of meeting. Or both. Probably both, considering he was walking them right up to the gates of the Nightfort.

Lyanna finally held her tongue. She could have said a number of things about his intelligence or lack thereof, but if the White Walker wanted to attack the Night's Watch head on and end up filled with dragonglass (surely the Night's Watch had plenty of the stuff) then she wasn't about to warn him off. And so, she stayed quiet, right up until the point where the gates opened for her captor and brothers of the Night's Watch stood on the other side with their weapons sheathed and their heads bowed.

"W-What… what the fucking hell is going on? Crows! Attack the damn White Walker!"

She didn't recognize a single man, but to be fair, the last time she'd been to the Wall, she'd been nothing but a girl, her and Theon brought along by their father to see the towering behemoth of a barrier. Still, when the Watchmen ignored her, she was more than a little aggrieved. Even more so over the fact that her kidnapper seemed to reach some sort of understanding if the sound he made was any indication.

They continued moving and she continued shouting.

"CROWS! FIGHT THE WHITE WALKER! DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL! I AM LADY LYANNA STARK AND I COMMAND YOU RELEASE ME THIS INS-oof!"

They'd come to a stop and Lyanna had been dropped rather unceremoniously on the ground, her arms still tied uncomfortably behind her back. She looked around swiftly, but stopped dead when she turned her head and saw WHY the White Walker holding her had stopped. There were more White Walkers there. A LOT more. Lots of crows too, brothers of the Night's Watch all kneeling before the very monsters they were sworn to destroy. But the ones she focused on were the two at the head of the massive group.

A male White Walker with a crown of horns jutting out of his skull… and a female White Walker, covering her face with one hand and cradling her pregnant belly with the other.

"Father… mother. I uh… I'm back. A-and look! I brought a bride too, just like you wanted!"

Lyanna's striking blue eyes widened as she looked back and forth between her sheepish sounding kidnapper and the White Walkers he'd just identified as his parents. Silence reigns for all of a single moment before she fills it with her voice.

"You most certainly did NOT!"

-x-X-x-

Is it bad to admit that I really have no clue what to do here? Nah, it's fine so long as it stays in the confines of my own mind, away from the hundreds of mental bonds with my family, my White Walkers, and my Chosen. Totally fine under those circumstances. And I've gotten very good at compartmentalizing. I stare at Rickar and the girl he's kidnapped. Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. Fuck me, did he HAVE to make my words to my Queen so damn true?

At least so far, MY Lyanna is merely facepalming, rather than exploding again. On the other hand, HIS Lyanna is filling the air quite nicely with her angry words.

"You can't just kidnap someone and then marry them! That's not how it fucking works beneath the Wall you damn monster!"

"It worked for my parents!"

And there it is. Rickar is… really not helping right now. My nostrils flare and my eyes squeeze shut, even as I feel my Queen's glowing blue eyes boring into the side of my head intensely. Right, yes. It's my fault if my son thinks that kidnapping a bride is okay, because I did it first and set a bad example, yada yada yada…

More than anything though, I had to speak my mind.

"Your name girl. Your name is… Lyanna?"

The human woman's eyes snap to me and while I can see the fear in them as I stare at her, she manages to keep her lips from quivering as she glares me down. Admirable.

"Yes! What of it?"

Rickar looks a bit stricken and I can feel the eyes of my dear, loving Queen leave me and focus on her son. Ah, sweet relief from that evil, evil gaze. My son raises his arms and waves them back and forth.

"I-I swear I didn't know her name until now! I just knew she was Lady Stark!"

Finally, my Queen speaks.

"How could you not know Rickar?! How could you spend MONTHS in the south, MONTHS traipsing across the sea with this one's brother and NOT LEARN HER NAME?!"

"… It never came up?"

At this point, the Lady Stark (the CURRENT Lady Stark) is clearly somewhat confused.

"What does my name have to do with ANY of this?! Can we focus on the part where I was kidnapped to apparently become a White Walker's BRIDE?!"

I consider stepping in, but before I can do so, my Queen does it for me, letting out a sigh and moving forward, her hand spread open as she walks up to a suddenly stiff Lady Stark. The original Lyanna Stark looks down at her namesake.

"I apologize my child, for the actions of my son. He did what he did rashly and without thought, but not out of maliciousness or evil intent. He is a good boy, merely… misguided. I am the Night Queen. The one you see behind me is the Night King. Two thousand years ago, I was Lyanna Stark, Lady of Winterfell and sister to Brandon the Builder, first King of Winter."

It's a toss-up, whether or not the new Lyanna is going to believe the old one or not. But as she stares in abject shock up at my Queen's face, I can see the moment she accepts it as true. To be fair, while my Lyanna is an ethereal beauty the likes of which not even the most beautiful human can match, she is essentially an inverse of a Stark woman with her white hair and blue skin. If I transformed the new Lyanna into a White Walker here and now, she and my Queen would no doubt look like twins.

… Did my son have a complex for his mother? My brow furrowed at the thought. Incest was wrong, both in my former world and this one given the shit that went down in canon because of it. But was it wrong between White Walkers? Maybe it didn't matter, so long as Rickar stuck to finding women that LOOKED like my Queen, rather than actually trying to tap his own mother's ass.

"Y-you're Lyanna Stark? The one who disappeared beyond the Wall at the end of the Long Night? How is that possible?!"

My Queen lets out another long-suffering sigh and looks back over her shoulder at me as I stand there, the perfect picture of outward stoicism.

"I was kidnapped by the Night King Lady Stark. He transformed me into a White Walker and made me his Queen. So, you can probably see why my darling Rickar thought it okay to take you from your home as he did. There is precedent… but this is still wrong. You will be released and allowed to return to Winterfe-"

"No."

The word slipped out of my mouth and silence fell over the courtyard as everyone froze up except for my Queen, who whirls on me, glowing blue eyes wide with fury.

"NO?!"

I simply shake my head in the negative.

"She has seen the new Night's Watch for what they are. Mine. She has learned much about us. Too much. We're leaving now to return to the Land of Always Winter and she is coming with us."

Surprisingly, it's not my Queen who responds, but Rickar.

"Father, Theon Stark will follow us north if we do that! He will not stop at the Wall, not when his sister is on the line. They call him the Hungry Wolf for a reason! Our best chance is to hold here and fight him off here. Surely the Wall, if turned against him and his army, can repel him."

I sneak a glance at Lady Lyanna Stark, who looks absolutely horrified by the very idea, as if just now realizing how insanely bad it is for them that what looks like the entire Night's Watch has been suborned by me. I end up lifting her spirits a bit, even as I dash Rickar's hopes.

"No, my son. The Wall was not made to defend from the south. The castles and forts are all along the southern side. The lifts and staircases are as well. The Night's Watch will allow Theon Stark and his armies to come North. We will deal with them there."

My Queen still looks angry and combative while her young, still-human doppelganger looks a bit panicked.

"Deal with them? Deal with them how? How will you DEAL WITH MY BROTHER?!"

I give Lady Lyanna Stark my nicest smile. Considering the way she blanches, it still comes off as terrifying. Curse my forever monstrous face.

"Peacefully, if possible. My plans do not involve the death of your brother Lady Stark. My plans also did not involve him marching on the Land of Always Winter in a bid to get you back, but that seems to be where we're at."

"Father, what about the wi-."

"Quiet, boy. Rickar, I love you dearly, but do not finish that sentence. I will not even consider it."

Rickar falls silent, sullen and confused. I had good reasons for not bringing millions of undead down from the True North to the Wall in order to make it a truly impassable barrier, even from the south. To start with, even now the Free Folk were willing to ignore what I'd done to the Night's Watch's last ranging. They were mortal enemies after all, and I'd sent the reanimated corpses further north the instant I'd had them stripped of their black cloaks.

But while I could assemble an army of a million undead and simply station them along the Wall to keep Theon out, if I DID do that, it would end any chance of keeping ANY of this under wraps. The North would know that the Wall was compromised and the Free Folk would be forced to confront the dark, dark question that had long since been lurking in the back of their minds.

No, the millions upon millions of wights I had in the True North were a trump card to end all trump cards. If I was going to use them, I may as well simply sweep south and take all of Westeros here and now, put it all under my rule and control everything with a fist made of cold, undeath. That wasn't my desire though. I wasn't the fucking Lich King or whatever.

Letting out an exasperated breath, I look about. Rickar is upset at me. Lyanna is upset at me. Lyanna 2.0 is terrified, but also upset at me. Good, they can all be upset at me together, in the north, where I can figure out how the fuck I'm ultimately going to deal with Theon motherfucking Stark.

"We're going."

Everyone obeys without another word, though I can tell my Queen will certainly have more words for me later on. Lady Lyanna Stark is the only one who stays rather vocal, screaming expletives and curses as she's carried off by White Walkers, my Queen trailing behind her and Rickar trailing behind his mother in turn, his head hung low.

I look to the young man I'd made Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The joy of the mark is that I do not have to explain my desires out loud. All five thousand Free Folk posing as members of the Night's Watch already know what I want from them. Still, common courtesy dictates that I say SOMETHING. I settle for a nod to the young Lord Commander.

"I expect my will to be carried out to the letter on this my Chosen. I know that I can count on you."

The men of the new Night's Watch are still kneeling all around me, but as I finish speaking, I can feel a wave of love and devotion pass through their marks. It might as well be a cheer, it certainly gives me a nice heady feeling.

Well, at least I still have the loyalty of my cultists, right? Letting out a dry chuckle, I shake my head and turn to follow my family back beyond the Wall. The toothy smile on my face fades the moment that I realize a simple, fundamental fact.

I still don't know what to do next.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Theon goes Beyond the Wall.**

 **-x-X-x-**

"You're the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

It was more of an incredulous statement then a question, but the young man with his black cloak and furs answered Theon all the same.

"That I am, King Stark. It's an honor and a pleasure to have one such of you visit the Wall. Though last I'd heard, there were foreign invaders attacking Westeros. I'm surprised to find you here with an army at your back."

… The brat was wordy, that was for sure. Still, as much as the Hungry Wolf wanted to start in on the reason he was here, he just couldn't get past this.

"Where the hell is the old man? Or ANY of his Commanders? The First Ranger? The Master-at-Arms?!"

The extremely young Lord Commander bows his head in visible sadness.

"Dead, your Grace. One and all."

"How is that possible? How did they die, what killed them?"

"There was a ranging. Reports of a damn wildling city. We all went… only those around you made it back your Grace. The Night's Watch is much diminished."

Theon could see that. The Nightfort felt almost empty compared to the last time he'd been here as a child with his father. He knew from his father that the Night's Watch was in decline, but even then, the Nightfort had been home to thousands of brother's. Now it seemed to house barely a thousand, if that. Theon could only imagine how empty the rest of the Wall was at this point. Manned by barely anyone.

"… Wildlings destroyed the Watch's leadership and half its brothers and somehow YOU ended up as Lord Commander?!"

Even with the lack of crows around them, Theon could still see men older than this whelping. He could also see the boyish Lord Commander's jaw set at the insult. Oh, the Stark King almost wished that the younger man would make a move. He was dying to show this piss-ant why they called him the Hungry Wolf. Unfortunately, it seemed that it was not to be. The young Lord Commander bowed his head after a moment of glaring at Theon.

"It was the Lord Commander's last command King Stark. I was his steward. The Night's Watch follows me. They respect me."

Bold words and Theon is in just the right kind of mood to challenge that. Looking around at solemn faces beneath black cloaks, he spreads his arms wide and shouts to the assembled brothers of the Night's Watch.

"Is this true? Does this boy speak for you? If any man wishes to speak his mind about this child's worthiness or lack thereof, speak now!"

There's a pause and then a man steps out from the crowd.

"Aye, he's the Lord Commander."

Theon lifts a single brow at him.

"And why is that?"

The crow shrugs.

"He led those of us who survived the wildling ambush back to the Wall. Saved us."

Interesting. The boy had some degree of humility then, or he would have mentioned that when Theon was disparaging him. A moment later it's like an avalanche falls. Too many men, too far for Theon to count, step forward to call the young man their Lord Commander. Theon's eyes go a bit wide at the display of loyalty. He's not even sure the old man his father had introduced him to as a boy could have commanded this level of loyalty.

"ENOUGH!"

The Night's Watch quiets down as his voice rings out through the Nightfort's courtyard. Once they're all silent, he smiles slightly.

"That's enough. I find myself convinced."

Turning to the young Lord Commander, Theon nods his head to the boy. He can see that the younger man's hands are clenched into fists. It's to his credit that he hasn't given into his anger. Another point towards him.

"I accept that your appointment to the position of Lord Commander, as strange as it may be, is just. However, what I cannot accept is the Watch's dereliction of duty."

There's murmuring all around and surprise on the affirmed Lord Commander's face before his brow furrows in confusion.

"Dereliction your Grace? Please, explain if you would."

Theon's smile has no humor in it. It does not reach his eyes. In fact, as he speaks it's more like he's baring his teeth then grinning, his pearly whites grinding together as he glares at the boy before him, as if it's the young crow's fault that his sister is gone.

"Yes. A White Walker was seen South of the Wall. A White Walker stole my sister from Winterfell and fled this way. I imagine he's already made it passed you and your shitty fucking Wall. What's the point of this thing if it doesn't keep the monsters out?! What's the point of your bloody Watch?!"

The murmurs are louder now and the young Lord Commander looks stricken. Either he's an excellent actor, or he's truly as ashamed as he appears.

"I… it is not excuse King Stark, but we were greatly diminished by that last ranging. Still, the White Walkers have not been seen near the Wall in several, several centuries. Not since the traitor in our midst has there been a sighting. The Night's Watch has long fought wildlings and giants, but not White Walkers."

"… You're right, it is no excuse. Still, I have need of you and your men Lord Commander. You will join the army that I have camped outside the Nightfort. Together, we will range beyond the Wall. We will kill the wildlings and raise this city of theirs to the ground. Then, we will kill the White Walkers, retrieve my sister. The threats that lurk beyond the Wall will be ended, here and now. If the Wall will not stop them, dragonglass in their hearts will have to do."

The young Lord Commander looks like he wishes to argue for a moment as he mulls over Theon's words. In the end, he holds his tongue. Another point in the boy's favor. If he'd tried to pull some stupid neutrality shit when it came to THIS of all things, Theon would have taken his head from his shoulders right then and there and been done with it.

Seeing that there would be no challenge from the Night's Watch as to his plans, Theon blew out a breath and asked the next obvious question.

"In which direction must we range to find this wildling 'city' Lord Commander?"

Another pause, but the Lord Commander still answers.

"Northwest your Grace. Along the Milkwater."

-x-X-x-

It takes them weeks to get moving, mostly because the Wall was the meet up point for the whole of the North. Theon's army of tens of thousands of Northmen, led by the greatest show of force the much-diminished Night's Watch can still muster. Over half of them are armed with dragonglass weapons, while the rest wield conventional metals, such as bronze, or if they'd been with him since Andalos, iron.

Theon himself has a dragonglass dagger at his belt now. He will never be powerless or defenseless before a White Walker, ever again. He is angry, because of course he is, why wouldn't he be? He wished he'd never decided to bring Rickar back to these shores. If he could turn back time, he would leave the monster to rot in that foreign land.

Still, for whatever reason, the White Walker did not kill him or any of his men. More than that, Rickar's wights hadn't killed any of Winterfell's defenders either. It was a little confusing, to say the least. But Theon knew one thing for sure. Rickar had taken his sister and for that, the Hungry Wolf would follow the White Walker to the ends of the earth, as far north as he had to go.

Unfortunately, his army was till made of mortal men. They were not tireless and each night, they had to make camp in the frozen snow. They were Northmen, each and every one, but Beyond the Wall was colder even then the North. It would take some getting used to for all of them. Even Theon himself bundled up in furs in his tent as he tried to get some rest, eyes eventually drifting shut. The sun had long since set and he had a belly full of meat and wine. The way he saw it, he was one day closer to rescuing his sister.

When he woke up, hours later, it was to the feel of a heavy presence on his chest and soft lips against his own. For a moment, Theon Stark thought he was back in Winterfell with his beautiful pregnant Queen straddling his hips. He tried to move his hands too her waist, only to find them trapped in the furs that he'd bundled himself up in before going to bed.

The King in the North's eyes snap open and meet glowing, swirling blue. A beautiful, ethereal face stares back at him with a wicked little smile on its lips. A White Walker has him pinned down, her knees on either side of his body, holding his arms to him. As she pulls back from the kiss, Theon tries to shout, but she claps a blue hand over his mouth and lifts a finger to her own lips.

"Shhh. I've never had a King-Below-the-Wall before Theon Stark. Let's have some fun."

With one hand still covering his mouth, the other travels down his body and Theon's eyes widen as he realizes what she's about to do.

-x-X-x-

Ayla always gets annoyed when her father refers to her current hobbies as her "rebellious stage". He's either completely unaware of what she's been doing with the Free Folk these past few centuries, or he's actively insulting her work. The female White Walker figures it's probably a mix of both. Regardless, Ayla was never one for reading or for building things like Rickar or her father.

That didn't mean she wasn't going to take advantage of the fact that her father had essentially set up their family to be deities. She wasn't stupid by any means. Still, at first she truly had hoped that by living with the wildlings, she might very well find out what it was like to be 'stolen', carted off and taken by some big, strapping human male.

Unfortunately, they were too afraid of her and she'd had to adapt her plans. That had been over a thousand years ago though. Now, her adaptations had taken on a life of her own. Ayla didn't know for sure what her father knew about her and her people, but what she did know was that she'd built something beautiful. Ten thousand spearwives followed her into battle. Ten thousand Free Folk women dropped their work at a moment's notice and joined her in whatever she wished to accomplish, simply because she was their Goddess and she had cared for and nurtured them for generation after generation.

It'd started out fairly simple of course. Ayla hadn't been able to get a man to steal her. So, she'd stolen a man. When word got around the village about what she'd done, there'd been some concern and worry, but no condemnation given her status as a White Walker. So she'd done it again with a different unattached man. She was more the catch and release type. While she did have a bit of a harem, it was more a collection of men that trailed after her like lost puppies whenever they could find her, rather than a group she kept in one place for her pleasure.

Eventually, wildling women had come to Ayla about her whacky new wave of getting sex. That's when her current day army had begun, as young, proud women decided they'd rather steal men then have men steal them. And now here they were. They regularly performed 'raids' on Free Folk work camps in smaller numbers, but very rarely did Ayla gather all ten thousand spearwives together at once.

Then her brother had come back home and while it'd taken some doing to get the whole story from her mother, Ayla understood at least one thing. The Hungry Wolf she'd heard so much about had come north of the Wall, unknowingly right into her grasp. She was going to have herself a King if it was the last thing she did. His army was vast though and so Ayla had needed the whole of her own little 'army'.

Ten thousand Free Folk women went West after discovering where the Northmen were heading. Ten thousand Free Folk women struck in the dead of night and carted off their chosen, melting into the forest as if they were never there to begin with. Only Ayla stayed behind, but then her target had an actual tent and in the commotion, no one had come to talk to him. After all, her followers had targeted the chain of command and carried off every Lord there was to steal before anyone else.

Now here she was, straddling the broad-shouldered King in the North. He looked like an overgrown baby, swaddled up in his furs and sleeping peacefully. It amused Ayla to no end that he'd essentially trapped himself, prepared himself for her coming. With her knees on either side of him, the human could not move. She kissed him, running her hands down his chest. He awoke and she quickly kept him quiet, even as she told him and then showed him why exactly she was here.

-x-X-x-

He hadn't expected it to be warm. Out of everything he should have been thinking about in that moment, that was what Theon's mind latched onto. As the beautiful blue woman slowly slid down his exposed cock, enveloping him in her tightness, he was surprised that she wasn't freezing cold on the inside. Instead, she felt as good as any human woman he'd ever lain with. Hell, better eve- no! Theon had to remain strong! She was doing this to tempt him!

The King in the North's mouth went dry as he remembered the tales. The Night's King's name was struck from the histories, but his story was still told as a warning. Female White Walkers sucked out souls through sex and according to the lore, the Night's King had been a husk of himself by the time Theon's ancestor had arrived to end his terrible reign.

The White Walker was going to suck out his soul! Theon began to struggle much harder, screaming through the beautiful creature's hand, even as she rode his cock. Nobody came to his aid though and the White Walker was stronger than him, by far.

"Damn it Stark, I expected you to have a bit more balls. It's just sex. Where's the fucking Hungry Wolf, huh? Put some work into it, move your hips."

Much to his dismay, his body already seemed to be obeying her as he did indeed begin thrusting up into her unbelievably tight cunt. It was shameful, the fact that he was enjoying this more than he'd ever enjoyed bedding his wife. The woman was a meek young thing and theirs was not a marriage of love. Still, he'd made his vows before the heart tree! This was wrong! He could not take pleasure from this act!

And yet, every second he was getting closer and closer to release. Theon shuddered, horrified as he realized that perhaps this was the moment of no return. When he came inside the beautiful creature riding his cock, would he lose his soul? The trapped wolf king struggled to hold back his release. He squeezed his eyes shut so he would no longer see the ethereal beauty atop him and he tried to focus on anything but the wondrous pressure around his cock as her pussy muscles tightened and flexed along his shaft.

To no avail. All of it, to no avail. Theon came moments later, unable to stop himself. His seed filled the female White Walker and then she was pulling off of him. Yet, the Stark King felt no different. He tried to struggle free, only for the beautiful monster to place a palm on his chest, causing him to tense up and freeze in place as she smiled at him.

"No need to get up on my account my darling King. I'll see myself out."

And then she was leaving, her hips swaying as she walked right out the tent flaps as if she owned the place. Judging by the fact that he heard no one shout at her sudden appearance, she might as well have. Eyes wide, Theon struggled free of his furs and got to his feet, darting from the tent.

-x-X-x-

With the deed done and his seed extracted, the female White Walker was gone by the time Theon scrambled out of his tent, dragonglass dagger in hand and half-naked. His eyes wide and wild, the man looked around only to see mass panic and confusion. No wonder she'd simply walked away, his guards were nowhere to be seen and everyone was running to and fro like chickens with their heads cut off. Having had enough of this, Theon grabbed the first passing Northman he saw.

"You! Stop and tell me what is going on! I am your KING! Tell me what has happened!"

The man stops and swallows thickly.

"W-Wildling attack my King! T-They came in the night and were gone before any of us could react."

A diversion no doubt, but still no laughing matter. Theon did not dare mention what had happened to him or the White Walker who had been in his tent. He couldn't let one thing pass by though.

"Why did no one come wake me? How many have we lost? How many did we kill? Who is dead?!"

The Northman just stands there, eyes wide and mouth agape. He's not going to get anything from this man. To be fair, the truth turns out to be strange indeed.

-x-X-x-

Hours later, with the sun rising over the horizon and a cold, cold breeze wafting through the disheveled camp, Theon Stark stared down at the few wildlings they'd managed to kill or capture. Five Free Folk women lay dead, their eyes closed. Three more sat next to the bodies of their fallen comrades, faces sullen and hands tied behind their backs.

Apparently, every wildling that had come upon them in the night was a woman. And apparently, the only thing they'd been interested in was stealing men. Nearly ten thousand of Theon's men had been carted off, though oddly enough the crows were reporting no losses. Letting out a snarl, Theon drew the iron sword at his side and stomped over to one of the bound Free Folk women. He grabbed her by her wild untamed hair and dragged her to her feet.

She glared at him in defiance, even as he pulled the gag from her mouth. Her teeth snapped in his direction only once before he had the blade to her throat and she went still.

"Tell me what your kind did with my men wench."

"Fucked 'em."

The blithe reply came fast and caused a stir among the Northmen surrounding them. Theon growled and dug the blade in a bit deeper.

"And what the hell does that mean?"

Rather than be afraid, the woman looks like she thinks he's stupid.

"The fuck do you think it means kneeler?! We're spearwives! Here in the True North, we practice mate-stealing!"

Theon furrowed his brow in confusion.

"I thought it was called wife-stealing."

That gets a scoff from the wildling woman.

"You're behind the times kneeler. The Free Folk are equal opportunists now. And we can't very well steal wives from an army of Northern MEN, now can we?"

Theon is a bit taken back by her unassailable logic, but before he can recover himself and ask another question, there's a commotion on the far side of the camp. Growling yet again, the King in the North releases the wildling woman and turns in that direction.

"What the fuck is going on over there?!"

A young man, barely more than a boy, runs up to him, slightly out of breath.

"Y-Your Grace! It's the men! The missing men my King! They've come back! They've all come back!"

Shocked, Theon spun around on the bound woman he'd just dropped to the ground. She just smirked up at him.

"I didn't say we kept them, did I?"

In the end, it wasn't ALL of the men. It was most of them though and the story they all told was the same. They'd been grabbed by wildling women, carted off into the forest and… things had been done to them that they'd prefer not to talk about. Considering most of the men were wearing torn furs or no clothing at all, the exact circumstances of their capture was obvious.

Still, all reported one other thing as well. They were all released to go freely. Not a one of them had 'escaped'. And yet, Theon was still missing hundreds of men out of the ten thousand or so that had been taken in the night. Once again, the wildling woman made herself useful by giving yet another blithe, blunt answer.

"Those'll be the ones who decided to stay. We always give a choice, we Daughters of Ayla. The men who haven't come back, ain't coming back of their own free will."

That had of course led him to ask who the fuck Ayla was supposed to be. This time, the Free Folk woman's answer had been quiet and for his ears only. It'd also chilled him to the bone, as she grinned knowingly at him.

"Ayla's our Goddess o' course. The one we all follow, the one who taught us her ways. But then, you met her last night, didn't you kneeler King? You couldn't have missed her. Her skin's blue!"

Afterwards, Theon would regret asking his next question. Demanding to know where he could find Ayla so he could hunt her down and stake her heart with his dragonglass dagger had drawn a response that gave him no pleasure whatsoever.

"Not to worry my kneeler King, not to worry. You don't find Ayla. She finds you. And if you think she's planning a single raid on you and your army, you're fucking mistaken. We Daughters didn't assemble in mass for the first time in centuries just for one fucking raid. Your army represents new blood for the True North! A thousand-thousand new children for the Free Folk! We're going to milk you kneeler fucks dry, night after night, day by day! So long as you stay beyond the Wall, you're in Ayla's territory!"

The wildling was practically crowing in delight by the time Theon backhanded her across the face and stalked off. He shuddered at the implications of her words. They'd only last around six hundred men from last night's… 'events'. But at the same time, the wildlings had apparently only lost eight. He'd already heard some of the returned Northmen bragging about the experience. If they were taken again in the night, would they be so quick to return to him?

How far did their loyalty stretch before it snapped just because of a wildling woman with a pair of tits and a cunt?!

Theon had come past the Wall to save his sister and to fight White Walkers and their wights. He'd expected hard, perhaps even impossible fights against the dead and their Masters. How the fuck was he supposed to have seen THIS coming instead?!

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: A poster suggested putting some spoilery info down here in a closing Author's Note. I used to do them in the past but haven't done them much for this story. What do you guys think of the idea? Does too much information in the opening A/N ruin a chapter for you?**

 **Also, in terms of spoilery info/thoughts on this chapter, I really felt like Ayla needed some character to her. This is what she got. In related news, the Night King SI continues to be a terribly unreliable narrator. "Rebellious Stage" my ass :V**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Here we are again. In which things escalate a teensy bit.**

 **-x-X-x-**

The raid had done more damage than a few hundred men. A lack of sleep and the late return of those who DID come back meant that Theon and his army got a late start to the day. By the time they were making camp again, it felt like they'd made absolutely no progress at all, though their Night's Watch guides assured Theon they had. The lands beyond the Wall all looked the same to the King in the North. It grated at him, knowing his sister was somewhere, hopefully close by, yet still out of his reach.

And then these… Daughters of Ayla came again in the night. There were less of them this time, perhaps only a thousand and they took less too. But once more, all of the sentries were grabbed, even though Theon had doubled their numbers. When the disappearances were finally discovered, Theon led his men out into the cold. They found no one. Where ever the wildling women were taking their men, it was not a place that could be found by wandering about in forest in the middle of the night.

Less men came back in the morning this time, far less. They could not speak of where they had gone, as it seemed they'd been blindfolded at some point on the way. They came back without their weapons as well, but shamefully enough, it wasn't until the next night that Theon realized what that meant. The next night, with the entire camp on high alert and everyone ready to be taken by wildling women for nefarious purposes… the Daughters of Ayla hit their supplies instead.

Food, water, clothes, weapons. Most importantly, dragonglass. All of their sentries had been armed with dragonglass weapons of some sort as well and on both days, those that returned did so without the precious material. Just like that, Theon's army was in jeopardy. The young Lord Commander was counseling at least a temporary return to the Wall. Not only were they now low on food and water to feed men numbering in the tens of thousands, the damn wenches had carried away half of their dragonglass, which was already in short supply.

Theon would not hear of turning back though. Not without his sister, not without Lyanna. They had to push on, even as he heard the men grumble and glare at him behind his back. The Hungry Wolf didn't care, so long as they didn't show their insubordination to his face. And those that did quickly learned why he was King fucking Stark.

His titles and what not did not help him here though. Their issues continued to crop up as they tried to push further north along the Milkwater. The Lord Commander assured him that the Wildling City and the site of the battle that had killed his predecessor was getting closer by the day. Theon believed the young man, if only because as they got further north, the Daughters of Ayla seemed to almost grow more desperate in their attacks.

Theon didn't quite understand that they weren't getting desperate, they were getting bolder. While it was still a minor portion of his men, the number of deserters, or at least those that did not come back from their nightly 'kidnappings', increased by the day. A man who was kidnapped more than once was more likely to not return and when Theon heard boastful tales from some about how more than one woman would come to them if they were 'exceptional', he'd seen red and outlawed such talk in the camps.

Yet, despite holding his dragonglass dagger to his side each night, the female White Walker, this Ayla that the wildling women worshipped as a Goddess, never returned. That didn't help him sleep any better, as when he did he inevitably dreamed about her touch and the feeling of their coupling. It was shameful, this betrayal of his lady wife and their coming child. In the end, Theon barely slept at all as a result of this.

That only led to the Hungry Wolf growing shorter and shorter with his men. The ban on speaking of their 'nightly encounter' with the women of the forest did not help either. King Stark was fraying at all ends and even those who had followed him loyally across an entire sea were beginning to worry. Those that had merely answered the call to meet at the Wall were another case altogether.

The first desertion came from the Tallharts and took two thousand men from Theon's army. The bastards made sure to leave when the fucking wildlings were making another raid to, so Theon didn't even get to chop off any heads for the betrayal. When they left, it began to spell the end, but the Stark King was too stubborn to admit it. He continued to travel along the Milkwater and routinely commented that the less men they had weighing them down, the faster they could move.

To say that Theon Stark was losing his mind might have been a bit premature… but not to the men who no longer wished to follow him into this insanity. At the very least, Theon could count on the Night's Watch. Those men had not deserted and though the young Lord Commander counseled calmly about returning to the Wall to reassess, Theon knew the man was not a coward.

The Night's Watch was loyal, of that, Theon could be sure. They would follow him to the end of the world to kill White Walkers and wildlings. Soon, he would find this wildling city and together, they would raze it to the ground. That would no doubt rejuvenate his men and raise moral. The supplies of such a place would also be a welcome boon. Once the city was put down, Theon could turn his army towards finding his sister. She had to be close by, especially if the wildlings were worshipping the White Walkers as deities now.

Theon knew he'd find Lyanna soon. He'd stick his dragonglass dagger into Rickar's heart and perhaps the heart of Rickar's father as well for good measure. Then, he would take his sister back to Winterfell. Everything would be fine. Everything would be just fine…

And then, two weeks into the madness, Ayla returned.

-x-X-x-

Driving the Stark King crazy was certainly an enjoyable affair, but one that Ayla wasn't too sure could continue on for much longer. At this point, her little 'army' was nearly equal to Theon Stark's remaining forces. She supposed it probably helped that the Daughters of Ayla did not chase after the thousands of men deserting his army. She always sent scouts to make sure the fuckers were actually going back to the Wall and their lands, but so far the freezing, starving Northmen hadn't diverted from their path back down south.

Still, at this point there really wasn't a reason to harass an army that was almost not an army. After all, she had the loyalty of a thousand of Theon's men already and he didn't even know it, didn't even seem to realize it. Was the Stark King so blind that he did not realize the Night's Watch had been helping her and her Daughters from the beginning?

It certainly seemed so. The thousand brothers of the Night's Watch that Theon was using as guides were the only ones to not betray his cause. A couple hundred had been taken to keep things from looking suspicious, but the 'crows' always returned the next morning. Not a single black cloaked man had taken the Daughters of Ayla up on their 'offer'.

But then, of course they hadn't. The so-called Night's Watch were in fact wildlings. The men they took enjoyed the lay, but when morning came, both man and woman knew that their duty was with their God and Goddess. It amused Ayla to no end that Theon mistook a loyalty to her father for a loyalty to himself.

The only real irritant was that boyish Lord Commander urging the Stark King to return to the Wall. That wasn't something Ayla wanted right now. But it was probably what her father wanted for whatever reason, so she left it alone. Still, with much of the camp emptied of dragonglass and Theon's army diminished, Ayla had decided it was time for another all out 'attack'.

Just about ten thousand wildling women had assembled. The 'Night's Watch' was in position to assist once more. And Ayla… Ayla was ready to take advantage of the confusion. As her girls moved into position and took down their targets, Ayla snuck up to the King's tent the same way she had before and slipped inside. Theon looked to be asleep and she crept ever closer, glowing blue eyes sparkling as she smiled wickedly.

She reached for him… and that's when the human acted. His eyes snapped open and his arm came up, not trapped within his furs like last time. In it was probably the last piece of dragonglass in the entire camp, a dagger that Theon had kept close to his person for this very purpose. The blade slices through the air and quite suddenly, Ayla is missing a finger. A cry of agony leaves her throat as she falls to her knees, purple blood leaking from the stump as she quickly covers it up to staunch the bleeding.

Theon Stark rises from his bed and looms over her, bloody dagger in hand and glinting in the torchlight. He stares down at her with an unreadable expression on his face and she looks up at him with pain and anger and rage in her eyes.

"You know where my sister is, don't you?"

Ayla glares in silence and Theon puts the blade to her throat, causing her to tilt her head back away from it. She hisses out a one-word response.

"Yes."

"And you will take me to her."

Ayla presses her lips tightly together for a moment and considers the ramifications of such an action. Considering her father didn't tell her to do what she'd been doing, it made sense that he'd have his own plans in place. Hell, he probably wanted Theon to come to him. Might have even expected it before now but thanks to her, the King in the North had been… delayed.

"Yes. I will take you to her."

A rather feral grin spreads across Theon Stark's face. It's not all that sane and Ayla can't help but be a bit pleased by just how far she's pushed the man, even as agonizing as the loss of her finger was. Reaching out, he grabs her by the hair. Ayla allows him to drag her to her feet, mostly because he keeps the dragonglass blade at her throat as he does so, until eventually he has her pressed up against his chest and is pushing her forward.

"Walk. Those of my men you HAVEN'T taken yet this night will want to see our new prize."

Gritting her teeth all the way, Ayla does as she's told and together they both stumble out of Theon's tent.

"MEN OF THE NORTH! TO ME! RALLY TO ME! SEE THE FACE OF OUR ENEMY!"

Ayla's glowing blue eyes gaze out around the much-emptied camp even as men begin to approach, slowly but surely. Her eyes widen, but not in fear as she notices one thing in particular about the men that her Daughters have left behind this night. Theon notices it too, even as a young Lord Commander steps out from amongst a thousand crows and bows his head to the Stark King.

"Your Grace. Is that…?"

Theon grins ferally.

"Oh yes. This is one of them. A White Walker. More beautiful than she has any right to be, but a monster nonetheless. She'll lead us to my sister. Yet… is it truly only crows that were not taken this night?"

And indeed, that is what his eyes might suggest. Ayla is grinning now in delight, thankful that Theon cannot see it. Even with the dragonglass dagger to her throat, she has never felt more in a position of strength as the young Lord Commander responds with a regretful tone.

"Unfortunately so your Grace. While the wildling women that follow that one took many, it seems that the Boltons also used the opportunity to desert in the middle of the commotion. As you well know, they were three thousand strong."

Theon lets out a curse and shakes his head.

"Once I have my sister back, I will take my revenge on all those that abandoned me up here in this frigid place. Craven, the lot of them. Still, I trust no one more than the Night's Watch with the handling of this monster. Bring forth rope and lots of it. Her kind are stronger than twenty men put together, I know that from experience."

Ayla stays still as the rope is brought forward. She even stays still as she ends up wrapped in it. Theon does not pull the dragonglass dagger away from her neck until he is sure that she is completely and utterly secure. Then he kicks her into the waiting Lord Commander's arms… and is promptly ambushed by the brothers all around him.

The Hungry Wolf's eyes bulge in surprise as he's quickly disarmed and forced to his knees by a number of crows. He shouts in outrage, but nobody pays him any mind, least of all Ayla, who gives the Lord Commander a pretty smile as he quickly begins to untie her. She likes the way his cheeks are flushed and his eyes will not meet hers. It's been a while since a boy showed such an obvious crush on her.

"I apologize Goddess, I did not wish to leave you in his hands for so long, but I feared for your life."

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"

Ayla ignores Theon for a moment longer to throw the young man who has technically saved her life a bone. She runs her uninjured hand down the side of his face and leans in to place a chaste kiss across his brow.

"You did well darling. My father will be quite proud of you."

The shudder that goes through the Lord Commander could be called orgasmic. Ayla isn't sure if it's due to her or due to the mention of her father's approval though. In the end, she doesn't care. Her attention goes back to Theon and she stalks over to him, a smile on her face even as she finally manages to wrap her bleeding stump in cloth so that the purple blood stops flowing from it.

Theon is panting heavily now, his voice growing quiet as she approaches. Her smile just grows into a wide smirk.

"You… you witch. You've taken control of them, all of them. How? How did you do this?!"

Ayla just laughs and backhands the King in the North across the face.

"That was for calling me a monster you fuck. I didn't bewitch anyone Theon Stark. Look around and realize the truth that's been in front of you this whole fucking time. These aren't the Night's Watch. They're fucking wildlings! While you were off across the sea raiding with my brother, my father had the old Night's Watch destroyed and replaced. And no one in the North even knows!"

Then, she leans down and grabs his face, her lips smashing against his own and her tongue diving down his throat before Theon can even react. When Ayla pulls back, Theon is wide eyed and breathing even heavier than before. Her smirk becomes a suggestive grin.

"And that was for calling me beautiful. Finally showed some bite, didn't you King Stark? I was beginning to fear you were all bark, but in the end, you do have teeth. Amusing."

Gritting said teeth, Theon glares up at the female White Walker he'd held captive moments before.

"What do you plan to do with me, monster?"

Ayla's nostrils flare at that, but in the end, she keeps her smile on her face.

"Do with you? Why, I'm going to do exactly what you asked of me, O' King in the North. I'm going to take you to your sister."

Theon's eyes widen fractionally but Ayla has already turned away from him, back towards the Lord Commander.

"Send some of your men to my Daughters. Tell them that plans have changed. They may keep any Northmen that they can seduce away, but the rest must be released. You and your crows will be here when they return. Theon Stark was stolen in the night and when he does not come back… well, I trust you can convince those that remain to go home. If not, let them hunt for him for a few days and THEN take them back to the Wall."

"… Goddess, what about you? Surely you do not expect to travel to your father alone with this man? You need an honor guard."

Ayla glances back at Theon and sees the beginning of a plan in his eyes, as if he truly thinks he could take her once they're alone together. Best to just disabuse him of the notion now though. With her smirk still on her face, the female White Walker lifts her uninjured hand into the air and snaps her fingers. A moment later, the Free Folk in black cloaks all around her are startled as rotted corpses and skeletons shamble out of the trees around them and past them to gather before her in the center of the camp.

Theon Stark is transferred from living hands to undead ones, but he is just as secure if not more so.

"Not to worry my darling Lord Commander. Do try to remember that neither I nor any of my family are ever truly alone."

The young man nods solemnly, eyes shifting to the wights only once or twice. Theon isn't so reserved.

"GET THESE FUCKING THINGS OFF ME! I SAI-MMPH! MMMMRGGH!"

Ayla rolls her eyes as she has one of the wights stuff a gag into Theon's mouth. Then, without another word to the 'Night's Watch', the female White Walker turns north and begins to move, her wights and their squirming, struggling cargo going along with her.

-x-X-x-

Lyanna the Younger had quickly discovered that the only person in this forsaken place that was worth speaking with was her ancestor. And so here she sat, watching the pregnant female White Walker do something she'd never have expected in a million years.

"You have a question child. Speak your mind."

Startled from her staring, Lady Lyanna blushes as Queen Lyanna looks up from her knitting with glowing blue eyes.

"I… it's just not what I would expect someone like you to be doing."

"To be fair dear, you've never met someone like me."

Lyanna the Elder had a point. Biting her lower lip, the young Stark blurted out the first thing that came too her mind.

"Do YOU want me to marry your son?"

There's a pause and then the Night Queen is setting down her knitting tools and letting out a sigh.

"No."

A simple, blunt answer. Lyanna the Younger continues to worry at her lower lip though.

"D-Does the Night King want it? W-Will he transform me into one of you against my will?"

"He might. I could not say one way or the other my dear. And for that, I am sorry."

A shuddering breath escapes her lips as the human girl stares down into her pale white hands, imagining them as a vibrant blue.

"What… what happened to you? Why are you the Night Queen? Why are you so loyal to the Night King? You have CHILDREN with him!"

The myths spoke of Brandon the Builder's sister only in passing. The histories were of two minds about her, but neither had spoken of this. According to the legends, either Lyanna Stark had sacrificed herself in some final battle in order for the Wall to be built, or Brandon the Builder had sacrificed her in order for the Wall to be built. The human Lyanna had always preferred the first story. But she'd never imagined THIS was the truth.

"That is quite a lot to answer… but you deserve honesty from me my child, so I will explain as best as I am able. The Night King stole me away at the end of the Long Night. I was not the only one, though I was the only human. Alongside me, he also took prisoner several Children of the Forest who had personally wronged him. They are all dead now, as torture and eventual execution was the fate he had planned for them from the beginning."

The Night Queen takes a moment to breathe, but Lyanna is riveted and stays silent as the female White Walker continues.

"My fate was not to be one of torture or death. Instead, the Night King had taken me for companionship, and ultimately, he transformed me into what you see before you now. I did not forgive him for quite a long time, but it is important to note that the very fact I COULD choose to not forgive him was a sign that he was not completely the monster we thought him. If the Night King so chooses, he can crush my mind and my will with a moment's thought. In two thousand years, he has never done this. He has also never forced me into his bed."

Another pause, though this time it looks as if the ethereal, ancient beauty is merely collecting his thoughts.

"It was… lonely up here in the North back then. I could not return home given my new form. My own brother or his descendants would have killed me without a second thought. And so, over time, I grew to accept my place at the side of the man who took me. What he did was not right and neither were my son's actions just, I assure you of that. And yet, two thousand years later, I have embraced my role as the Night Queen. And… I think I may love my King, as wrong as that sounds."

Lyanna doesn't know what to say to that. It's romantic… sort of? In a sense? She still doesn't want to marry the other Lyanna's son though. The human woman opens her mouth to say this, when Lyanna the Elder suddenly tenses up, her glowing blue eyes widening dramatically. She stands and her knitting falls to the floor forgotten as Lyanna the Younger stands with her.

"What? What is it?"

"… Your brother is coming."

For the briefest of moments, Lyanna is ecstatic. Then she realizes what that truly means. She is not idiotic and she is not blind. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lyanna asks a question she truly does not what the answer to.

"What… what will the Night King do to my brother and his army?"

"You misunderstand me child. Your brother does not approach with an army, nor does he come of his own free will. My daughter is bringing him to her father so that he may face judgment."

The Night Queen's response causes Lyanna to open her eyes and furrow her brow in confusion and worry.

"J-Judgment?! My brother has done nothing wrong! H-He even saved your son's life and returned him here from across the sea, as foolish as that was! You and your damn King have no right to judge my brother!"

The female White Walker suddenly turns on Lyanna and the Queen's glowing eyes seem far more menacing, far more monstrous than before as she looms over the suddenly frightened young woman. When the Night Queen speaks, it is with a frosty tone, the warmth and familiarity of before completely gone. This is more what Lyanna had expected.

"Your brother maimed my daughter with dragonglass Lyanna Stark. I would tell you to pray for him at a heart tree, but my King had them all destroyed. Perhaps you can try praying to him instead for your brother's salvation."

The ancient, pregnant evil turns and sweeps out of the room and Lyanna is left gaping after her in horror. She can't blame Theon for attacking a White Walker with dragonglass after all that's happened. She can easily imagine the circumstances that would lead him to do so.

That doesn't stop her from fearing for his life. The Night King had not seemed a particularly forgiving creature, the one time she'd interacted with him. Shivering from something more than cold, Lyanna Stark wraps her arms around her chest and squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know if there's anything she CAN do.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **So, explanation time: In the TV Show, White Walkers turn to ice and shatter when cut/stabbed by dragonglass. Here, the reason Ayla bleeds is because she's a natural born White Walker. If any of the OG White Walkers besides the Night King were cut or stabbed with dragonglass, they would indeed turn to ice and shatter, because they do not have souls and the dragonglass 'shatters' the magic binding them together.**

 **Hope that makes sense to everyone.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: In which we get more serious again.**

 **-x-X-x-**

I wonder if they think that I chose this Palace at random. I didn't really. It is sort of random, set among the middle of the thousands of massive structures I've had my army of wights building for the past two millennia. But there was a reason I went with this Palace, or at the very least, this TYPE of Palace in particular.

Put bluntly, it had a cushion on the throne. It was one of the few types that did. So many fantasy castles and palaces and what not from my old world had jagged thrones of metal or stone or ice. The cold didn't bother me, certainly… but nobody likes to sit on a hard surface for any long period of time. I'd always been a creature of comfort in my old life. Now was no different as I shifted slightly in my seat. The cushion beneath me was packed with goose down and covered in a lair of soft snow bear fur.

It was quite comfortable and I was going to need every ounce of that to get through this, I could tell already. The throne room was silent for a moment, despite there being a number of people besides me within it. Everyone was quiet, probably waiting for me to speak. My pregnant Queen sat at my right side in an equally comfortable, though slightly less ostentatious throne. Her hand was atop mine, and her thumb was slowly circling along my blue skin. Off to my left and slightly behind me stood Rickar, the boy smart enough not to say a word given the situation.

His hands clasped behind his back, all Rickar did was stare… mostly at Lady Lyanna Stark, who stood all by her lonesome off to the side the great hall. She didn't notice my son's near obsessive stares in her direction, mostly because her eyes were zeroed in on her brother where my daughter had him kneeling in the center of the hall.

Theon Stark knelt before me, Ayla's hand, sans one finger, pushing down on his shoulder to keep him in place. Unlike everyone else, he was not one to stare at one person for too long. The Hungry Wolf glanced from face to face, a myriad of emotions splashing across his features as he glanced to Rickar, to me, to my Queen, to his sister. The Stark King was bent, but not quite broken. I was a little impressed, given the things he must have seen on the way here.

Unfortunately, the silence cannot last forever, no matter how much I want it to. I'd have been happy to sit for a little while longer, brooding and what not upon my throne. But my darling Queen, perhaps the only one who can get away with it, decides that enough is enough. The pregnant woman stands and her glowing blue eyes zero in on Theon Stark and our daughter.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself King Stark?"

Theon looks to my Queen blankly. After a moment, he speaks earnestly.

"I am glad to see my sister unharmed. If you will relinquish her into my custody and give us enough supplies to reach the Wall, you will never hear from either of us ever again."

… I like him. I can see why Rickar got along with this Stark King. Of course, now my son is outraged at the mere mention of his 'bride' going anywhere. I resist the urge to rub my temple with my fingertips as Rickar takes a step forward and opens his mouth angrily. Luckily, my darling Queen is on top of things today. She twists to give Rickar a glare that stops him in his tracks and my son shuts his mouth and steps back without a word.

Then, my Lyanna's glowing blue eyes are once again on Theon Stark's face.

"You maimed my daughter. There must be recompense."

My Queen's tone is quite menacing. As such, I'm impressed when Theon is not even remotely cowed by her words. He shrugs a shoulder and glances back at Ayla, who's still holding him in place.

"She raped me in my bed before I took her finger. Do the two actions not equal each other out?"

There's a pause and though I cannot see my Queen's face from here, I can tell from her body posture and Ayla's alarmed gaze that she's turned her glare from Theon to our daughter. Ayla squirms under her mother's look and in the end, her defense is about as weak as it could get.

"I… he enjoyed it well enough!"

My Queen doesn't give our daughter a response, at least not a verbal one. Instead she turns away from Ayla, walks back to her throne, and sits, placing her face in one hand. Ah, if only I too could facepalm right now. Lucky bitch… that I love very much. Ahem. Right. I suppose it was my turn, if that wasn't a parental baton toss I didn't know what the hell was.

And yet… I needed a bit more time before I was going to deal with Ayla or Rickar.

"Theon Stark. Come forward."

The human man looks surprised when I finally speak, while my daughter drags him to his feet and prepares to frog march him towards me. I stop her with a raised palm.

"The man can walk under his own power Ayla. Release him."

Ayla looks a bit betrayed and it shows in how forcefully she pushes Theon out of her grasp. The bound Stark stumbles but manages to keep his footing as he slowly walks towards me. He's a tad more nervous now, but at the same time he still holds himself as a King should. Eventually, he stops about twenty feet from my throne and holds his head high as he looks me in the eye.

"I assume you're supposed to be the Old God."

My nostrils flare and I look to my son for a brief moment. To his credit, Rickar at least has enough sense to look sheepish, glancing down at the floor in silence. That little bit of rewriting lore on the fly may very well have set my plans for the North back by centuries. Then again, this whole situation, with Theon Stark and Lyanna Stark beyond the Wall and in my clutches had the potential to do far more damage than that.

Turning back to the Stark King, I shake my head.

"No. My son… misinformed you. I am the Night King and I am a White Walker. I have lived on this world for six thousand years, no more, no less. My name is gone, as is my identity. But I was born a man, much like yourself. I was among the First Men who first arrived on Westeros. We aimed to cut down the weirwoods, to use their unnatural bark for construction, to build great works. The Children of the Forest did not approve and they took me and many others and made us what you see before you today."

Theon is incredulous.

"The Children of the Forest made YOU? Why the hell would they do that?"

I smile sardonically and shrug my shoulders.

"Out of fear of course. You must know your histories King Stark. The Children and the First Men fought for millennia before finally finding peace. I was their weapon against your ancestors, my own kin. And once they had no need for me or mine, they sent us to this cold and forgotten place, locked us away in the ice, and did their best to erase us from time itself. But we would not stay silent forever. I would not stay silent forever."

I pause, but to my surprise, Theon is actually listening to me.

"The White Walkers rose up and the Long Night came yes, because I wanted revenge. I killed the Children of the Forest where ever I found them, wiped out their villages and their communities. I destroyed them… and along the way I killed some humans too, because I was angry and cruel and without patience. If something got in the way of my vengeance, I removed it."

"And you took Lyanna Stark, Brandon the Builder's sister."

The words catch me slightly by surprise and my gaze follow's Theon as he looks to my Queen beside me. Still, there is no denying it.

"Yes. Yes, I did. Because of this, my children seem to have seen fit to follow my example. For that Theon Stark, I apologize."

"Wha-?"

"Fath-!"

"Quiet!"

Both of my children try to speak up, but I silence them with a word. Unfortunately, it is clear to me that I can no longer ignore either of their actions.

"Go to your sister King Stark. Understand that wights roam the halls and you and Lyanna should not attempt to leave this room."

Theon looks surprised, but he takes advantage of my gracious offer nonetheless, turning and walking to where Lyanna stands. There's a nice cutesy moment where they hug and she sobs into his shoulder, but I spare it no mind as I call to my children.

"Rickar, Ayla. Come forward."

Son and daughter, brother and sister, the twins move to stand side by side, looking to me, where I have yet to move from my throne. It's comfortable. I stare at them both for a long moment in silence before speaking.

"Tell me what you would have me do Rickar."

My son startles before glancing over his shoulder at where the two Starks are embracing. He looks back at me and for a moment, I believe he will make the right choice, say the right words. Unfortunately, he does not.

"I would have Lady Stark as my bride father, if you will allow it."

"No."

I feel like he should have seen it coming, but my son looks gut-punched nonetheless.

"N-No?"

Shaking my head back and forth to make it clearer, I reaffirm my answer.

"No. I will not allow it Rickar. You will not take Lady Stark as your bride. Ayla, tell me what you would have me do."

Despite my rejection of her brother, Ayla has her head held high and her chin jutting out as she answers me.

"I would have you do nothing father. I claim Theon Stark by right of conquest. He is mine and I intend to keep him."

"No."

Unlike Rickar, Ayla doesn't look shocked or dismayed, she simply looks angry.

"What right do you have to deny me father? I took the Stark King in his bed, I captured him, I brought him before you!"

I'm a bad father. If this is what my children are like, I suddenly regret allowing my Queen to have more. Leaning forward, I grasp the arms of my throne and stare into my daughter's eyes, trying to make her understand, even as I lay waste to her argument.

"You raped a married man my child. It was MY Night's Watch that captured Theon Stark after he very nearly killed you. And you brought him before me because you knew you would need my approval to keep him in MY lands. I do not give it Ayla. You will not be allowed to take the Stark King as a husband or a pet or a concubine, no matter what you wish."

She opens her mouth to say something else, and that's when I rise. As hoped, it has the intended effect. Ayla's mouth clicks shut even as I walk down from my throne to stand before my two children. I soften my tone just a bit, but it is no less absolute.

"My decision is final Ayla."

My daughter stays silent, but Rickar does not.

"Father… how can YOU deny us this? Are we not to follow in our parents' footsteps?"

Fuck this is getting so damn somber. And my next words sound cheesy as hell, but I'm going to say them anyways because just maybe they'll get through to my children.

"Rickar, Ayla… I will not condemn nor condone… but nonetheless, it was never my wish for you to grow up to be like me. I want you to be better than me. My mistakes must not be your mistakes. I will not allow you to repeat what I did to your mother."

We have a moment, I can totally tell. My children soften and their anger and confusion and dismay melt away as they nod in acceptance of my decision. I smile and place my hands on their shoulders, drawing them in close for a three-way hug. Hug, hug, hug… c'mon Theon, we're done talking, that's your cue.

"So then… we can go?"

Aha, there he is! I plaster a regretful look on my face as I pull away from my children, moving between them to look towards the two humans in the room.

"Unfortunately, no. Not as you are."

My children stiffen behind me, as does my Queen. Theon looks alarmed and Lyanna is outright petrified. Hm, I wonder if my 'regretful' face needs some work. Am I accidentally doing intimidating at the moment. I continue on after only a brief pause.

"You ARE needed in Winterfell King Stark. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and with the two of you here, I fear it stands empty."

"It doesn't."

The words slip free from Theon's lips automatically and then he immediately clams up as he realizes what he's said. I just smile softly.

"Ah yes. Your wife is pregnant. Regardless of if it's a boy or a girl, I'm sure they will make you as proud as my children have made me over the centuries, despite their occasional misstep. Why, I-."

"What are you planning on doing with us White Walker?"

Any trace of civility is gone as Theon cuts me off and glares at me heatedly. If only his eyes were dragonglass, I'd be dead on the spot. Chuckling softly, I get down to business.

"Theon. Lyanna. Expose your arms to me."

There's hesitation, understandable but I'm getting annoyed. This whole debacle has gone on far, far too long. My lips curl into a snarl and I expose rows of sharp teeth as stare down the two Starks.

"Your arms, now! Either that or I march below the Wall now and add the whole of your precious North to my domain! I am TRYING to be kind!"

My threat works. Theon practically rips his sleeve up and while Lyanna takes a second longer, she manages to expose her skin to my eyes as well. The Stark King and his Lady sister stand before me with their arms bared. I smile appreciatively and then I lash out, my hands closing around their naked flesh. Brother and sister cry out in unison as I mark them, but I do not let go as quickly as I do with my Chosen.

Instead, I hold onto the pair and work my magic a bit more. The bond I create with Theon and Lyanna is a bit more special. By the time I'm done, Lyanna is sobbing and Theon's face is red as he grits his teeth in pain. Pulling back, I allow them to draw away from me physically, even as I reach out and touch them mentally. The Stark siblings cradle their arms, staring down at the imprint of my palm and fingers in their flesh in horror. Neither seems to notice my presence in their minds though, so I make it known.

 _Theon Stark. Lyanna Stark. Welcome to my service._

Their eyes snap up to me and Theon snarls angrily.

"I will NEVER serve you. I am King in the North! I bend the knee to no man."

I just smile outwardly, while inwardly I continue to project directly into their minds. My family knows what I am doing but has no access, leaving them only able to listen in on one half of the conversation.

 _Luckily for you Theon Stark, I am no man, so you will not be made a liar. Still, I will give you a choice once more. Now that we are bonded, I can show you this. If the two of you do not wish to serve, this is what awaits the North._

I show them my army. The real one, not the Night's Watch or the Free Folk or the rotted wights and skeletons that patrol the Haunted Forest. Lyanna and Theon Stark get a nice front row seat through the eyes of one of the original White Walkers as a whole row of castles is built by millions upon millions of cold, dead hands.

 _Just something to keep in mind while the two of you make your decision. I find many people overlook the fact that the dead far outnumber the living."_

Theon shudders violently, while Lyanna looks beyond dismayed. Have I broken these two? Perhaps, but what's done is done. Knowing that I have them both, I return to speaking out loud.

"Kneel."

Slowly but surely, the King in the North and his sister descend to their knees before me, heads bowed low. I let out a low breath and smile. Everything is right in the world.

"Now the two of you may go. You will be supplied most richly and you will be given an escort back to the Wall. The Night's Watch helped you find your sister and kill the White Walker who took her. In the end, my son's words were the ramblings of a mad man and you saw no sign of any other White Walkers in the Land of Always Winter, though you won't doubt we still exist. The Free Folk have no city and are in fact still the warring tribes you think them to be. These are the truths you will lay out to your people. These are the North's truths."

"… How do you intend to have us serve you?"

I smile wider at that.

"Live. That is all I expect of the two of you. Live and lead. Fight your wars, win your battles. Be the King in the North… and do not stray beyond the Wall again."

Theon looks incredulous. He sounds incredulous too.

"That's it?"

I snort derisively.

"Do not look a gift horse in the mouth, Theon Stark. What I demand of you will be in no way easy. You have battles ahead of you that will be much more difficult now that you have wasted so much of your strength and your good will on this foolish errand into my lands. But, you are the Hungry Wolf and I have heard great things about you. Prove me right and save the North from damnation a little while longer. For know this truth as well Theon Stark. When there are no more Starks in Winterfell, then I will descend upon the North and take it as my own. Do you understand me?"

The human swallows hard and nods.

"I do."

My smile widens just a tad more.

"Good, then go."

He does as I tell him, turning to leave with Lyanna at his side. It's Rickar who calls out and brings their departure to a halt.

"Theon! Lady Stark!"

I stay quiet, allowing this to play out. The siblings turn to face the cause of pretty much all of their current problems. Rickar has the good grace to look chagrinned as they both stare at him.

"I… I apologize for my actions. I wronged you both."

Theon stares some more, but then his sister leans in close and murmurs in her ear. Of course, given we're White Walkers, everyone in the room hears her words.

"He is not a bad man brother… merely mistaught."

Ouch, fuck you too bitch. I keep my smile on my face, but it's a bit more brittle as Theon nods slowly and looks Rickar in the eye.

"You did. We forgive you."

And that's that, the Stark children turn and depart without another word and despite getting the bluntest forgiveness ever, Rickar looks over the moon. I really need to get that boy more friends. I turn and look to my family, letting out a rueful sigh and shaking my head. And of course, Ayla can't help herself.

"Perhaps I should escort them to the Wall father. Make sure they get back to Winterfell safely."

I give her a look and then a wide smile spreads across my face.

"I don't think so Ayla. In fact, I do believe both you and Rickar are staying right here with your mother and I. You see, she's very close to giving birth. We'll need you both here to help out with your new sibling, or siblings. It's entirely possible your mother is having triplets this time around."

"WHAT?!"

I laugh as my Queen's shriek fills the hall. Rickar and Ayla look on amused but slightly bewildered. Of course, they don't know just how much control I have over my darling Queen. As dumb as it probably was of me to do it, just for this joke… Lyanna is definitely having triplets.

As I valiantly run from a screeching pregnant White Walker, carefree laughter on my lips, I reflect on the amount of work I just put into everything, just for the sake of canon. And really, what do I expect at this point? Canon can't possibly look the same anymore, yet here I am anyways, pretending to have heartfelt conversations with my children about their kidnapping habits, just to get them to let go of two of the more important pieces on the board.

I didn't let Theon and Lyanna go home because of some silly moral reasons. I didn't admonish Rickar and Ayla because I truly want them to be better than me or all that rot. I just… I just want toys I'm at least somewhat familiar with down the line. Is that so bad? I don't think so. If I can keep Westeros even half-intact by the time canon rolls around, I'll have considered my job done.

Still… look what two of my children got up to in just two thousand years… and we had another six thousand to go. This wasn't going to be easy.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: Some people figured out what was going to happen ahead of time~**

 **However, I feel like many people either underestimated or just plain forgot how far the Night King SI will go to try and keep Canon intact. Even if ultimately, it's the losing-est battle to ever be lost lol.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Here we go.**

 **-x-X-x-**

The trip back to the Wall was a somber, quiet affair. How could it not be? Even as Theon found himself carried on the back of a reanimated dire wolf with his sister at his back, there just didn't seem to be anything to talk about. The White Walker that escorted them back was silent as the grave as well, showing absolutely none of the personality or even intelligence that he'd seen from the… what did he even call them? Were they royals among the White Walkers? It certainly seemed like it, given the impression he'd gotten from the Night King.

Were the 'Royal' White Walkers the only ones capable of independent thought? … Did it even matter? That thought had gone through Theon's head more times than he could count since they'd left the Night King's presence. Did ANY of it truly matter anymore? He supposed it did, else he wouldn't be heading for the Wall to go back to Winterfell. Theon was going to go home and he was going to be King Stark.

… And wasn't that just terrifying. The Night King's words rang through his head. When there are no more Starks in Winterfell, then he would descend, more than likely at the head of that massive army of death. All the dragonglass in the world couldn't save them then, even if Theon still had the ability to plan a defense against the creature now living in his head.

He hoped that his sister wasn't as aware of the Night King's presence as he was. Theon could feel the White Walker's claws scraping at his mind. Usually it was barely noticeable, but the Night King was watching him and he wanted Theon to know it too, as far as the King in the North could tell. Shuddering, Theon closed his eyes for a moment, but before he knew it, Lyanna was smacking him to get his attention.

"Theon! There it is!"

His eyes open back up and he looks to see it. The Wall, despite what he now knows about its Watchmen, has never looked more beautiful. If he never sees the lands beyond the Wall, or their inhabitants again, he will be oh so very happy. They arrive at the gate within minutes, the undead dire wolf acting as their mount making exceptional time.

Both White Walker and dire wolf turn and leave as Theon and Lyanna enter the Wall, but neither Stark sibling looks back. Waiting for them within is the Lord Commander and fifty brothers of the Night's Watch. Wildlings, one and all… Theon can't believe that they allowed things to get so bad that an outright conversion of the Night's Watch went completely unnoticed. Grimacing, the Stark King reflects that his own conversion will probably end up being unnoticed as well… it has to, if he's to safe the North.

"King Stark."

The Lord Commander still looks like a boy, playing at being a man. At the same time, there's something more menacing about him now. Theon supposes it's probably the stories one hears about wildlings beyond the Wall. A wildling boy is no less a killer than a wildling man.

"… Lord Commander."

The young Lord Commander's lips twitch into a half-smirk and he cocks his head to the side.

"Am I?"

The boy is feeling ornery now that they serve the same master. Theon knows he shouldn't be surprised and really, he isn't as he places a hand on the arm where the Night King laid is brand. A sardonic smile crosses his face.

"If I am to remain King Stark, I suppose that yes, you are the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. It is HIS will after all, isn't it?"

Despite Theon's sarcastic tone, his words are actually received quite well by the black cloaked Free Folk all around him. The Lord Commander even smiles more genuinely as he nods in agreement.

"We are his Chosen. You and your sister are part of that now. Part of something greater than yourselves."

Theon's mind immediately goes to the vision of a sea of dead that the Night King had forced upon him and Lyanna. He thinks about why he's doing this, why he's serving the White Walker. The Lord Commander is right, in a way. His purpose is greater than his crown or his Kingdom. His purpose is to save the whole of the North, perhaps even all of Westeros from a menace that they don't even know exists.

A light chuckle escapes Theon's throat and he inclines his head in agreement.

"Indeed."

Lyanna looks to him alarmed but Theon merely slips a hand into hers and squeezes. They will talk later, when they aren't surrounded by the Night King's sycophants. Funnily enough, Theon doesn't actively fear the White Walker's wrath itself. So long as he does not act against him, Theon believes the Night King could care less about his thoughts and his feelings.

That does not mean these… Chosen will react the same way. Theon has seen zealots before. He knows the kind of man who will serve their god with all their soul and that is not the kind of man who takes kindly to anyone doing less than serving with their all. He and Lyanna are surrounded by those types of men. The entire Night's Watch is now made of them, as far as he's concerned.

The Lord Commander gestures for them to follow and the group begins to move through the Wall to the other side where the Nightfort awaits.

"You will stay the night with us. I imagine it's been a time since you had a true rest. Then, in the morning I will send five hundred of my men with you to Winterfell, to make sure you arrive back at your ancestral seat without difficulty."

Theon can see the benefits in showing up back at Winterfell with both Lyanna and the Night's Watch at his back. It will help him to sell the 'truths' that the Night King intends for him to shove down his peoples' throats. Still, he can't help but frown slightly at the wording the Lord Commander uses.

"You think there will be difficulty on the road?"

The young Lord Commander looks back at him and grins.

"Most definitely your Grace. King Bolton, for example, already makes his intentions towards your lands and your castle known. If word reaches him or his allies that you and your sister have made it back to the Wall, there will be… 'bandits' on the road to Winterfell, if you catch my meaning. You two are now the Night King's most important Chosen. Our lives are forfeit next to yours. You will make it safely back to Winterfell, on this you have my word."

Lyanna is shaking beside him and Theon is stone-faced as he processes what this wildling Lord Commander has told him.

… He's going to paint a field red with the blood of the fucking Boltons.

-x-X-x-

The next morning, they depart for Winterfell just as planned. And if Theon pushes the small legion of men that the Lord Commander has given him a bit harder than normal, none complain. They make excellent time, but it still takes a week to return to Winterfell. There is surprise, but mostly pleasure at the return of their King and his sister. His lady wife is most pleased to have him back and Theon takes the time to give her and her belly a kiss, a reminder of why he must do what he must do.

Then he calls for the Maester.

"My King, it is so good to have you and your sister back in Winterfell. The castle felt empty without you two. Why, I remember when you were both but children, laughing and playing, bringing life to this old pile of sto-."

"Enough. The reminiscing can wait for another time. I need you to send ravens to all of my bannermen. They should be back in their holdfasts by now. King Bolton is preparing to attack my lands, to attack Winterfell because he thinks me gone. Even my reappearance will not stop him however, the bastard smells blood in the water. We have a war ahead of us and far too little time to prepare."

"… My King, your information is a tad out of date."

Theon blinks dumbly, brow furrowed as he glances to the old, smiling man.

"What? This information is only a week old, how can it be out of date?"

The Maester's smile grows just a bit more and he spreads his arms wide, shrugging as if to say, 'what can you do?'

"King Bolton has already been taken care of my King. He was found flayed alive in his study, his heart still beating, even as it lay exposed to the elements. His Maester told his bannermen and subjects that his last act was to expose his own son as the culprit. A search of the Prince's quarter revealed the bloody clothing and the tools that the young man used to do the deed. It wasn't hard to arrange at all."

Theon is no fool. He can put two and two together well enough. But he cannot comprehend why the Maester, the old man who doted on him and Lyanna as if they were his grandchildren, would do this.

"You… arranged this? Why? Are the Maesters not neutral in such affairs as these? Since when do you carry out assassinations?!"

The old man's kindly smile grows just a bit wider.

"The Maesters are neutral my King, yes… however, before I made my vows to the citadels, I made an oath that far outweighed them all. I'm sure you know what this is."

The old man pulls back the loose sleeve of his robe and Theon's eyes flicker down before widening in shock at faintly glowing blue handprint on the Maester's arm. His own throbs for a moment and Theon immediately grasps it, gasping in surprise and staring up at the Maester's smiling face.

"I did not think I would serve a Stark King who had been Chosen by the Night King in my life time your Grace. But I suppose I should have expected the unexpected from you my dear boy. Long before you were King, long before you were the Hungry Wolf… you were the most impossible child. If anyone was going to venture into the Land of Always Winter and discover him, it would be you, wouldn't it?"

"You are…"

"I am Chosen, yes."

Theon is in shock. Perhaps if he had more time he would be able to put it together, but in this moment, he can only ask a simple question.

"… How?"

The Maester chuckles slightly, still the jovial, friendly old man that Theon grew up with. And yet, the Stark King has to remind himself that this same man ordered the brutal assassination of another King less than a week ago.

"Your Grace, the Night King's Chosen have been in the North, your North, for almost two thousand years. To ask me how is to ask me to explain centuries upon centuries of subterfuge. Best if you just read my predecessor's book on the subject. He went into great detail about the History of the Chosen, but unfortunately only those of us… 'in the know' so to speak, are allowed to read it given its sensitive nature. Still, you are one of us now."

"Your predecessor… how many…"

Theon trails off, at a loss for words. Luckily, the kindly old man is happy to fill in the blanks.

"Hm? How many what dear boy? How many Maesters or how many Chosen altogether?"

After a moment of thinking about it, Theon answers simply with a half-hearted shrug.

"Yes."

Chuckling at Theon's weak attempt at a joke, the Maester gives him an answer that does not set the Stark King's mind at ease one bit.

"Well, the Maesters in Winterfell have been Chosen for at least ten centuries now, as far as I'm aware. As far as the rest of the North is concerned, the important castles all have a Maester who is also Chosen by this point. The late King Bolton certainly did… however, with the death of himself and the execution of his only son for kinslaying, House Bolton's future is looking grim indeed. My colleague in Bolton Lands will perhaps need to find a new assignment. I've heard good things considering the new Andal Kings in the Vale. Perhaps one of them will foot the bill for a Maester from the Citadel, once the value of such a thing is explained to them."

The Maester pauses and then seems to realize he's only answered half of Theon's question.

"As for the number of Chosen in general… tens of thousands I imagine. I can't give you an exact count, the bond that you and your sister share with the Night King is the strongest I've ever felt. If you cannot count us all up, I suspect no one can. Still, we are everywhere. All across Westeros, even if the majority of us are concentrated here, in the North."

Theon's head is swimming. Long before Rickar had ever come south of the Wall, long before the Night's Watch had been subverted… the Night King was seeding the North with people like the one before him? Theon had been half-raised by this kind old man! Fuck! It was just… it was too much. Theon couldn't help but sound a bit petulant.

"Why call me your King, if you serve another?"

Even then, the Maester continues to smile.

"You are my King, Theon Stark. He is my God. And yours now as well. We serve the same being, the same awe-inspiring creature."

"I worship the Old Gods of the Forest…"

Even to his own ears, that sounds weak. Theon was never religious to begin with, but after everything he's heard, he's even more doubtful of the existence of such deities than ever before. The Maester just smiles sympathetically rather than reply. They both know the truth. With a grimace, Theon shakes his head.

"You… you cannot assassinate my enemies. There is no honor in that. I must prove my worth in battle or what worth does the Stark name hold?"

"There will be battles ahead Theon, I can assure you of that. You will fight for the rest of your life I imagine, and when you die your son and his son and his son after him will fight as well. War is the way of our world. Still, it is my duty to keep you and your family safe. You were not ready to face King Bolton. Your bannermen were not ready to answer the call. We needed time to recover O' King in the North. With the Boltons gone and their lands in disarray, we now have it. When the Ironborn attack, we will be ready to come to the aid of our brothers in the west."

That gets Theon's attention and he's immediately on his feet, his fists clenched.

"The Ironborn? The Ironborn are planning to attack the North?!"

The Maester chuckles and lifts a hand up to placate the Stark King.

"Not yet my dear boy, not yet. They will come though; the Night King has foreseen it and he has seen fit to give us warning. We will be ready for them and the North will unite behind you to defeat this outside menace, as it has before."

Then this is to be his purpose. Theon is surprised to find that he is slowly becoming somewhat okay with all of this. If the Night King is true to his word and all Theon must do is live and keep his family name alive as well… perhaps it will not be so bad. The invisible leash around the Hungry Wolf's neck will never feel remotely comfortable… but one must adapt or one will die.

"Very well then. Let's begin."

-x-X-x-

A small gate on the southern side of the Wall slid open and out into the snow walked a group of fifty crows and nine trainees. They walked for a time in complete and utter silence, before eventually arriving in a godswood. Only, there was something wrong with this godswood. The sworn brothers did not react, but the trainees did, staring in wide eyed horror at the frozen weirwoods all around them.

When they finally arrived at the heart tree, things got much worse. The tree with its carved face and bleeding eyes was just as frozen over as the rest of the godswood, but none of the nine bastards and orphans of the North were looking at it. Instead they stared at the creature that leaned against it, inhuman in appearance, monstrous even.

Only… these were not learned men. They saw a monster yes… but not a White Walker. None kneeled however and one among them found the confidence to speak, to question what was happening.

"W-What is this?!"

A sworn brother of the Night's Watch turns and smiles.

"You stand before the Night King. The Night's Watch does not serve the realms of men, nor do we take part in their wars. This is why. This is our liege. He is to be yours as well. Kneel."

The nine young men shiver in the cold, glancing to each other and looking at this 'Night King' in obvious trepidation. But pure pressure is a hell of a drug and these young men have become brothers in all but name with the crows standing around them. With fifty pairs of eyes beneath fifty black cloaks staring at them, waiting for them to do as their told… all nine young men kneel.

"You will listen and you will repeat my words. Do you understand?"

Only once all nine have given their affirmation in the form of either a nod or a short 'yes' does the Watchman begin to speak.

"Hear my words and bear witness to my vow."

They chorus along after him, repeating him verbatim.

"I shall take no wife and hold no lands. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post."

"I am the Sword in the Darkness. I am the Watcher on the Wall."

"The Cold does not harm me, for I am its ally. The Dark does not frighten me, for I am its servant. I am the Shield that guards the Realm of Winter."

"I pledge my life and honor to the Night King, for this night and all nights to come."

There is no hesitation. Perhaps if these were Northern Lords, perhaps if they'd known how their oaths had been altered… but no, these are bastards and orphans and their ignorance sees them through. There's a pause as all nine trainees complete their oaths. A sense of finality hangs in the air, before the same man that led them through the words grunts and speaks again.

"Bare your right arms before the Night King and bow your heads."

The nine young men do as they're told, tensing up as the inhuman monster steps closer. He reaches out and grasps their arms one at a time. There is a hiss of pain and each stare at the blue handprint he leaves behind, but soon enough it is over. There is a smile on the Watchman's face as he speaks once more.

"Rise, brothers of the Night's Watch."

The young men rise, even as the Night King steps back, still completely silent. They can feel him now, in their minds. It is surprisingly pleasant, his cold presence running across their souls. But soon enough he is gone and they are surrounded by their brothers, happy faces one and all. The nine men, no longer trainees, find themselves quickly becoming happy as well. They serve a higher purpose now after all. They have joined a brotherhood that finally gives their lives meaning.

This is where they belong, in service to the Night King right alongside the rest of their brothers.

-x-X-x-

The Harbor City is finally finished and boy is it a fucking beauty. Rickar was impressed when he saw what I'd started with the Free Folk while he was gone, but ultimately, I'd been happy to pass off the rest of the project to my son. He needed a distraction and judging by the way he threw himself into the work and finished the place up so quickly, Rickar had felt the same.

Now here I stand once more on the City's docks. Still hadn't come up with a name for the place. I figured Rickar could name it, or maybe the current King-Beyond-the-Wall, what'shisname. Didn't really matter to me, but I hadn't suggested Hardhome. It sounded kind of dumb to be honest, especially for such a majestic place. And just a tad cliché.

Regardless, I had something better to focus on for the moment. The docks were fully constructed this time around and a multitude of men and women stood before me, while two majestic ships, twice the size of their predecessor, sat on either side of them. I'd lost contact with the crew I'd sent to Essos for dragon eggs. Given what Rickar had told me about his time on the continent, I figured the marks had faded away.

That said, I didn't ever expect that first crew to succeed anyways. It was more of a throw a dart at the wall blindfolded kind of scenario. This was a far more serious attempt! … And one that I still didn't truly expect to succeed. Still, with two ships and two crews, I figured I was doubling my odds. I'd given both ships my best memory of a map of Essos and all the information I could about their tasks.

They would more than likely fail, but the attempt had to be made. I wanted fucking dragon eggs and I wanted them before the Doom of Valyria would make gaining one far too easy. Sure, I could wait until the remaining dragon eggs were just valuable paperweights and snag one then and it would be almost guaranteed then. But that was thousands upon thousands of years away… and if I was being honest with myself, I wanted to ride a dragon now, not then.

So, here we were. At the head of the crowd both crews are currently making stand a man and a woman, the captains of their respective vessels.

"Right then. You know what awaits you my Chosen. I cannot be with you on this journey however much I wish to be. Essos is a godless land filled with heathens and heretics. But if you succeed in your task and return to me with the prize that I seek, you will be uplifted and you will have a place by my side forever more. Now go. I will await your victorious return."

There are no more words to be exchanged. The Captains and their crews bow to me as one and then turn to their ships. The two vessels are swiftly making their way out of the bay and towards the Narrow Sea. I watch them go, but I do not allow hope to creep into my heart. No, that would just result in disappointment.

Still, eventually it would work. I'm sure of that. When one has millennia to accomplish a goal, one can only fail if they are extremely incompetent, or just plain stupid.

I was fairly certain I was only moderately incompetent, and as the Night King, there was nothing plain about me.

… That was a dad joke, wasn't it? And even the knowledge that it was doesn't stop me from finding it funny, at least in the privacy of my own head. Fuck, what kind of monster was I becoming?

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: Theon's going to be just fine... BUT AT WHAT COST?!**

 **And for those of you who only read this story on this website, I'm contemplating having a bit of an omake contest in regards to the SI getting dragon eggs.**

 **Go read about that in my closing Author's Notes for this chapter on either Spacebattles, Questionable Questing, or Alternate History. Those are the websites where said contest would take place, as those are all forum websites which are much more conducive to hosting omakes.**


	21. Chapter 21

The young man furrowed his brow when he first heard the news. As one of the newest brothers of the Night's Watch, he'd just said his oaths before the Night King. Still though, this bit was odd.

"We're going on a ranging?"

The veteran Watchman who'd told him and his comrades the news looked back with an annoyed expression on his face.

"Aye boy, that's what I said, innit?"

He should probably leave well enough alone… but he couldn't help himself.

"Aye, but didn't ye also say that the Free Folk have pledged loyalty to the Night King now too? What's the point of ranging beyond the Wall if we aren't hunting Free Folk?"

A strange look crosses the older man's face for a moment and then it's gone and he's smirking.

"We hunt wild animals o' course. And maybe, just maybe we run into some Free Folk of the more feminine variety."

That gets a dumb blink from the young man.

"B-But we swore an oath to take no wives and no lands!"

Now the veteran crow just looks incredulous.

"That doesn't mean you can't still fuck boy! You've still got a cock and a pair of balls between your legs, don't you? We're not eunuchs! Now get ready! The ranging leaves in an hour and the Lord Commander himself is leading it! You're in for a treat!"

That got the younger man's interest. The Lord Commander was a bit of a legend among his group, especially given his age. After watching the man slaughter that stuck up noble prick with those twin swords of his, five of their nine man group had taken up the double-bladed fighting style as well. They weren't any good at it of course, but they were working on it.

Though, he hadn't. Instead, he'd earned the right to wield the dead man's sword by being the best in their group. Licking his lips, the young crow gets to his feet and gathers up what he needs, grabbing the well-crafted sword in its sheathe on his way out. Alright then, they were going on a ranging.

-x-X-x-

The Lord Commander lay in his tent and stared at the ceiling of the thing, eyes unmoving. This time of night, it was the only time where he could truly think, could truly contemplate… everything. He was Lord Commander of an organization that had tried to wipe out his people for generations. The Night's Watch were the nightmares that the Free Folk raised their children on. If you were naughty, the Night's Watch would come for you. If you didn't listen or if you stole or if you lied, the Night's Watch would come for you.

Now, he was the Night's Watch. He wondered if Free Folk parents would need to find a new nightmare to give their children, or if he would be the monster in the dreams of his people from now on. It was a sobering thought. He'd never expected to lead, especially not at his age. But then, he hadn't expected much of what happened. In private, the young man suspected that the Night King hadn't expected it either.

He was fairly certain he'd understood the Night King's plans to a point. His God had explained things to him and his four comrades. They were to infiltrate the Night's Watch and begin laying the foundations for complete overthrow hundreds of years down the road. It'd taken them centuries to weaken the Watch to the point that they would not be out of place in joining it, and the Night King had clearly expected it to take centuries more before he finally held complete control over the Watchers on the Wall.

Then they'd been idiotic enough to range out beyond the Wall, after hundreds of years of failed rangings. They'd seen a shiny in the form of the now completed, beautiful harbor city, and they'd gone ahead and decided they had to take it out. They died for it and him and his four comrades found themselves as the most veteran members of the Night's Watch hilariously enough.

The Night King had named him Lord Commander personally and that carried so much damn weight that no Free Folk dared question the decree. And yet… he was confident in his belief that the Night King had done it on a whim. Certainly, he was the old Lord Commander's personal steward… but Stewards did not in turn become Lord Commanders, he'd learned that much fairly quickly after being assigned to the group.

That had been fine with him at the time. He was not looking for personal glory within the Watch, he was simply looking for a position that would afford him the ability to begin the most basic preparations for his God's eventual plans. Stewarding was the perfect role for him. So, he'd downplayed his abilities and he'd ultimately been chosen to steward for the Lord Commander himself.

And then the old fuck had up and died on him, and now HE was the Lord Commander. Honestly, it was a tad ridiculous, but in the end, what could one do but serve? He would follow his God to the end and if the Night King required this of him, he would do as was needed, just as he would gladly fall on his blades of the Night King ever required THAT of him.

There was a sudden commotion in the camp, but the Lord Commander didn't rise from his bedding. He simply smiled as the air filled with a very specific set of sounds. There was some surprised shouting and that was probably the nine new brothers they had. Orphans and bastards of the North… they would have to get used to how Free Folks did things, just like anyone else who came to the Wall from the North from now on.

The Lord Commander hoped that Theon Stark would make an effort to curtail any idea of 'honor' in serving on the Wall. He'd take no pleasure in doing it, but he'd gut any fucking Lord's son that couldn't adjust to the Night's Watch, just like he had with the last one. The Night's Watch's reputation needed to stay shit, or else they'd end up having to kill just as many recruits as they managed to indoctrinate. 'Course, now the King in the North himself was one of the Night King's Chosen. That probably meant good things ahead for their efforts in the North.

Still, for the moment at least the Lord Commander was pleased. His men were going to have their fun with the Free Folk women currently 'invading' their camp. Unlike the army of Northmen that had actually put up a fight, no 'crow' was about to kill a woman when they could do something else instead. He wondered if anyone would visit him, and as if summoned by his thoughts, that was the moment a hooded figure slipped into his tent.

The young Lord Commander finally rose, his hands open and rested at his side and his swords several feet away. He had no intentions of using them anyways. This was a test of strength, of will. One did not cut a Free Folk woman into submission. You had to show what you could do with your own hands. Especially with these Daughters of Ayla, hardest group of bitches he'd ever met and he meant that in the nicest way possible. Keeping his stance loose, he lifted a brow in the direction of the shrouded Free Folk woman before him.

"Well? Shall I make the first move?"

His eyes widened as the woman reached up with blue hands and pulled back her hood, even as she turned fully to face him and revealed herself to be Ayla. The female White Walker's lips curl into a savage grin, showing off rows of white teeth as her glowing blue eyes fill with impish delight.

"The boy has some bark to him. Now let's see his bite."

… This was going to go poorly for him, he could already tell.

-x-X-x-

She was a White Walker and no matter how hard he fought, he'd still end up on his back. The young man knew that, but he gave it his all, all the same. Contrary to his words, the Lord Commander made the first move, rushing in at her. Ayla looked surprised and then a little annoyed, her hands coming up to grab and arrest his momentum. That was when he turned the charge into a slide and kicked her legs out from under her.

Before the beautiful blue skinned female knew it, she was face planting as he grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her to him. Such was Ayla's surprise that the Lord Commander managed to tear her pants down to her knees before she reacted, flipping over and kicking him in the chest with both feet, now that her legs were momentarily tied together.

"Now there's a bit of the bite I was looking for. Come on Boy Commander, should me what you've got."

Gritting his teeth, the young man got back on his feet. Ayla stayed on the ground, on her back, a smirk on her face. To be fair, she didn't need to move, did she? The moment he put himself in reach of her, Ayla would have ahold of him and he'd be quickly subdued. Licking his lips, the wildling ultimately took a step back… and began to strip.

The female White Walker lifted a brow and took the time to kick off her bunched-up pants and throw away her shirt. She finally stood and they faced off once more, this time both completely naked. Ayla's gaze moved down the Lord Commander's body. She was really just unable to help herself, sneaking a peak. Her glowing blue eyes widened slightly as she saw what the young man was packing.

He was already growing hard at the sight of her naked body, but even soft, the boy commander was long and thick, one of the bigger ones she'd seen, though not the biggest. It would have made for a good target, but Ayla wasn't that kind of gal. She didn't need to be, going after the end goal like that was both underhanded and self-defeating. If she did too much damage to the goods, who was going to fuck her?

The young man proved his quick mind once again by taking advantage of her momentary distraction. Abruptly, the cock between his legs was growing bigger not just because he was happy to see her, but because he was getting closer. Ayla reacted in time, but just barely, grappling with the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and swiftly pinning the young man to the floor. He fought as hard as he could, but as soon as they matched strength for strength, there was nothing he could do.

Taking SOME mercy on him, the female White Walker flips around and plants her cunt lips right atop his face, even as she takes his growing cock in her hands.

"Lick."

The simple command is followed, even as she slowly wraps her lips around the young man's tip, suckling at it rather lewdly and tracing her tongue around the circumference of his girthy prick. He really is well-endowed for such a young man. She can't exactly see herself referring to him as a boy anymore, not even in her head. This piece of meat is one hundred percent man. And his tongue isn't half bad either. The Lord Commander even adds his fingers to it and Ayla is of a mixed mind on whether she regrets not pinning his arms to his sides with her knees now.

On the one hand, his fingers and tongue feel good. On the other hand, it feels too good. It's clear that the young man has given up on the fighting aspects of their struggle and is now focused on beating her in another arena entirely. Still, this is why Ayla shifted into this position, to give him a chance. She couldn't fault the young man for taking it, but she wasn't about to lose to him.

Bobbing her head up and down happily, Ayla swirls her tongue even further down the cock before her, one hand stroking the base of his still growing shaft and the other reaching down to fondle and massage his balls. A groan against her lower lips tells her that her efforts are yielding results as well as sends pleasurable vibrations into her inner passage. At the same time, she can't quite stifle the muffled moans escaping from her own throat as he works hard to bring her off before she can milk him dry.

Ayla slowly begins to take the man's cock deeper into her mouth and down her throat, but it turns out he has one last trick up his sleeve as well. The female White Walker's eyes go wide when she feels a finger suddenly probing at her puckered, pristine asshole. The Lord Commander is going after her sphincter and her entire body shudders as he works his index finger into her tight butt.

All the while, his tongue remains writhing in her cunt and his free hand is constantly frigging her clit. She's a bit overwhelmed by what she expected to be a near-virginal boy. Where the hell is this all coming from? His enthusiasm mixed with his skill sends her over the edge far faster than she anticipated and Ayla moans around his shaft as she climaxes all over his face.

In her moment of weakness, the Lord Commander takes advantage. His finger in her ass becomes lodged there as he grasps her buttocks with the rest of that hand and lifts up. Meanwhile, his other hand moves to her head, his fingers tightening in her white locks. In an impressive show of strength, the young man lifts himself up off the ground and forces her into an upside-down position that leaves her head in his lap as he begins to thrust into her throat, forcibly choking her on his cock.

"Gagkh! Gagkh! Gagkh!"

Ayla's eyes are wide and watering as the Lord Commander abuses her throat. She's never been put in a position this humiliating before and the sheer shock of it leaves her unresponsive for a few long moments until she finally gets ahold of herself and reacts. Her legs wrap around the back of the young man's head and she grabs at his shoulders with her hands. A moment later, they're rolling and his cock is flying out of her throat as Ayla forces the Lord Commander down onto the ground.

He's pinned beneath her, even his arms trapped at his sides by her knees this time. There's nothing for him to do, nowhere for him to go. His hard cock is still riding up against her ass though, as she sits on his navel and stares at him with wide eyes, breathless panting coming from her throat. He stares back at her with an undiscernible expression on his face.

In silence, Ayla shifts slightly, moving forward and reaching back. Their faces are bare inches apart as she grabs hold of his cock and eases it into her cunt. Once he's inside of her, she pulls back and impales herself fully on his massive member. Then, the female White Walker begins to bounce, grunts leaving her lips as she rides his cock.

She should have done this from the beginning, but Ayla admits that she's never had a man fight quite as hard as this one has. Most roll over and play dead the moment she directs their cocks to one of her holes. There's a bit of spirit in this one though. Her father made the right choice when he made the young man Lord Commander. Riding this nice, thick cock, Ayla moans and reaches up to grasp one of her breasts, her other hand raking along his exposed chest as she fucks herself on his schlong.

Quite quickly, the female White Walker finds herself arriving at her next climax. There's something to be said about the man's staying power as well. Multiple orgasms? It's not unheard of, but it's certainly not something she gets very often from her numerous boy toys among the Free Folk. Not unless she's having an orgy and fucking one after the other, but Ayla doesn't feel like that counts.

Her hips continue to bounce up and down on the young man's cock, until finally she manages to milk his release from him with her THIRD orgasm. His cum paints her inner walls white and as Ayla cries out towards the ceiling of the tent, her knees spread a bit, loosening their grip on his arms. Even now, the Lord Commander is ready to take advantage. He does so in the only way he can. His arms come up, his fingers grasp her nipples, and he pulls and twists at the same time.

Ayla shrieks as the pain mixes with the pleasure of her orgasm in a delightfully erotic way, but before she knows it, she's on her back and he's still inside of her, still thrusting away into her wet cunt… STILL hard! Her glowing blue eyes stare up into the determined gaze of the young man above her, even as he gropes and kneads her tits, fucking her from a position of strength for as long as he can get away with. A wicked grin spreads across Ayla's face and she reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

The female White Walker pulls the Lord Commander of the Night Watch down into a deep, passionate, and most importantly domineering kiss. She lets him have this moment for now, but the tables are turned once again many times before the night is over.

-x-X-x-

By the time they're done, Ayla leans forward and presses her forehead to the young Lord Commander's.

"I'm keeping you."

For the first time since their encounter began, the human male looks alarmed. Ayla just smirks wickedly as she pulls him to his feet and drags him from his tent.

-x-X-x-

The next day is one of revelry and relaxed smiles all around. Many of the wildling women who had 'invaded' the Night's Watch's camp during the night have no left. Nobody seems to care though. The whole thing was basically one giant orgy, as most of them didn't have furs to sleep on, let alone tents. Everyone is quite pleased with themselves, until a general cry rings out and they're all forced to gather in front of the Lord Commander's tent. The First Ranger stares at sworn brother and wildling woman alike with an expressionless face.

"The Lord Commander's gone and while it's all in good fun, we kind of need the fucker back to lead us and what not. Night King's orders."

There's confusion and concern all around, until one of the higher-ranking Daughters of Ayla finally steps over, looking as worried as the rest of them.

"Ayla herself laid claim to the Lord Commander ahead of time. He was off limits to us all. If he's gone…"

The First Ranger grimaces and finishes for the wildling woman.

"If he's gone, it's because the Goddess took him."

She nods before furrowing her brow and frowning.

"It's just… Ayla doesn't TAKE men. They trail after her like lost puppies and she might allow one or two to return to her bed to scratch the itch, but she doesn't keep what she catches."

The First Ranger lets out a low sigh and places a hand to the blue handprint on his arm, closing his eyes and furrowing his own brow in concentration. Even as he contacts their God, he answers the wildling woman with a simple, slightly exasperated statement.

"Apparently, she does now."

There's silence for a few seconds and then the First Ranger straightens up and opens his eyes. A moment later, every other member of the Night's Watch gets a simple message. The First Ranger looks around for a moment and gets nods of acceptance and understanding from his men. Then he turns back to the wildling woman.

"Right, I'm Lord Commander until this mess gets sorted out. If it doesn't, I'm Lord Commander permanently. Fuck me… alright, let's get camp packed away you fuckers. We're heading back to the Wall. You ladies are welcome to join us and keep some of our brothers who missed out on this trip company. Otherwise, get the fuck out."

Despite the Acting Lord Commander's crass language, no one takes offense. The crows hurry to follow his orders and pack up, while the wildling women make the decision to stay or go. Those that are married are the ones who head back mostly, while those unattached are the ones who stick around. In the end, they're on the move within a few hours, the new Lord Commander grumbling all the way through about this and that and being forced to pick up the slack thanks to the predations of White Walker women.

-x-X-x-

I stare at my daughter in silence. At least I wasn't completely blindsided by this, as Ayla originally intended. I don't know how she meant to keep it a secret until she arrived when I literally had over half of the True North marked as my Chosen, including the men she'd stolen this one out from under, but whatever. Time to focus on the problem at hand.

"You want to take the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch as your husband."

It's not a question, more of an incredulous statement. Ayla still treats it as one, nodding her head up and down, even as her hand tightens around the young Lord Commander's shoulder. It's clear that the wildling man is a bit awestruck by my presence, as he always has been when I'm around. He stands with his back straight, his legs apart, and his hands clasped in front of him. His head is bowed and his eyes are on the ground, out of subservience towards me.

There's a reason the boy is Lord Commander. He has been one of my most devout followers for much of his life. He was also competent and skilled in the things he decided he needed to be good at. Watching him fight with those twin swords of his was always a treat and sometimes on rather boring nights I'd have him do exhibition bouts against some of his men on the Wall for my amusement, watching through the eyes of him, his opponent, and all those around him as he'd effortlessly dismantle whoever he was up against.

If he was the main character of a story, he'd undoubtedly be labeled as a Gary Stu by anyone with half a mind. But the thing was… I didn't even know his fucking name. Which brought to mind a question for Ayla.

"Do you even know his fucking name?"

There's a pause. My daughter tenses up, furrows her brow and then frowns in deep thought. Finally, she turns to the Lord Commander and just outright asks.

"What's your name?"

I roll my glowing blue eyes, even as the young Lord Commander answers and satisfies that question for both of us. I mean, I probably knew it at one point, I could always just look into his mind and figure it out, though people spent a lot less time thinking about their own name then one might think, but it just wasn't worth the bother.

"Torrand, your Grace. My name is Torrand."

Ayla looks downright triumphant as she turns back to me, her hand still never leaving the poor human's shoulder.

"There, you see? His name is Torrand father. I wish to marry him. I wish for you to bless our union and ascend him into one of us for me, so that I may have him by my side forever."

"And what does Torrand want? Did you even think to ask?"

My daughter is more perceptive than I give her credit for. She just rolls her eyes at my comment and finally let's go of the young man's shoulder.

"He wants to stand at YOUR side for all eternity father, obviously. He's one of your devout little stooges after all. He'll jump at the chance to be ascended, even if it means marrying me."

She's right of course, I can feel Torrand's excitement at the idea even now. He knows he cannot hide it from me and so he does not even try, trusting me to accept him, faults and all. Now that is adoration and loyalty. Letting out a sigh, I roll my eyes at the both of them.

"Torrand, do you even remotely love my daughter?"

Ayla's eyes narrow at that question and she looks at the human male. To his credit, Torrand does not tense up in fear, nor does he get flighty or antsy. He gives the question appropriate thought and then answers with something that makes me snort derisively and Ayla chuckle, a wide grin on her face.

"I… have enjoyed our short time together. I believe I would enjoy more, especially on equal footing."

Alright fine, it's too much to deal with this shit right now. The more time I deliberate, the more chance of Rickar finishing with helping his Mother with the triplets and then I have to deal with him. Better to just turn the human now and handle my son's inevitable reaction later. Rickar had been a little… burned by the events with Lyanna and Theon Stark. No point in reopening fresh wounds right this moment.

Stepping forward, I reach out and place my hands on either side of Torrand's head. My FORMER Lord Commander's eyes roll back in his sockets as I transform him on the spot. His hair goes white, his skin goes blue, and his pupils begin to glow as he's changed into one of us. Ayla watches on from the side with badly concealed satisfaction and eagerness. How long before she realizes just like her mother that I have complete control over when they get pregnant?

… I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Pulling back from the remade Torrand, I bring my hands back down and smile sardonically.

"Off with you two. Don't let your brother see you together for at least a couple weeks. He'll find out today no doubt, but give him a little time to adjust. For me, please."

Giddy with her new toy, though judging by the thoughts I see in Torrand's mind, Ayla will be quickly disabused of that notion, my daughter just nods happily and drags the former human away. I send a casual message to the Night's Watch's new Lord Commander telling him that his promotion is permanent and that I leave the naming of a new First Ranger to him. Then, I head off to find my wife and my new children. Three identical boys… what had I done to deserve this?

… Don't answer that.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Fair warning, we didn't get to the end of Theon's life yet lol. I got... inspired.**

 **-x-X-x-**

Staring down into the sleeping face of his newborn son, Theon Stark knew that he was on the right path. He would do anything to keep his flesh and blood safe, even serve a monster beyond the Wall. He would bend the knee a thousand times over if it kept his child from harm.

"My King, there is news."

Theon looks up at the Maester rather blankly. The old man has just entered the room unannounced, but since they'd become 'brothers' of a sort, the Maester had begun to do those kinds of things. Theon was still "my king" and "your grace", but it was clear that the Chosen viewed themselves as mostly all equal in the Night King's far reaching shadow. Now that he was one of them, he had fallen into a strange mixed state of being one of them, yet at the same time still the King in the North.

"News from where Maester?"

Truly, there were a number of places that it could be arriving from, though in the end it was the one Theon wished it not to be.

"Our God of course, your Grace. He has seen the wars you will need to fight in defense of the North. He has sent me visions of powerful weapons that will help you in your battles. Guiding my hand, he has crafted a schematic for these new weapons, using me as his avatar. I have them here for you now."

The old Maester holds a stack of scrolls that only now Theon truly pays attention to. Pressing his lips together, he holds his sleeping baby boy close and nods to the Maester to use the bed at his side. The old man quickly sets the numerous scrolls down and grabs one at random, opening it and unfurling it. Theon moves to stand over the 'schematic', eyeing the lines and the drawing within and trying to understand it as best as he can.

It's a bit beyond him though. The North has used siege weapons before, but he's not seen anything like this. Finally, he gives up and looks to the Maester.

"What is it? What does it do?"

The Maester looks excited, his eyes lighting up and his tone eager as he begins to explain.

"It is an ingenious design my King, worthy of the Night King's endless capacity for knowledge. The vision he showed me, of this weapon in action, was awe-inspiring. Over a hundred feet tall, it will throw massive boulders in the same way a man might sling a stone. I confess, I am sure we will need the Night King's guidance in making sure we are successful in building this device, but I know that with his help, we can succeed. It will allow you to take any keep in the North and it will allow you to begin any battle by flattening dozens, if not hundreds of the enemy's warriors."

Theon's lips curl back a bit in disgust. He does not like the idea of weapons that slaughter indiscriminately. Death should be dealt with a blade, from one man to another. Still, for the exact same reason, the Hungry Wolf has never liked the bow, never liked archers. Yet he tolerated their presence in his armies for the same reason he will be forced to tolerate this now. The safety of his people relies on it.

They weren't just facing the death of their culture anymore, not as they had with the Andals. If Theon did not keep the North strong, if he did not solidify House Stark's rule in Winterfell for generations to come, then nothing would stop the endless tide from descending upon them. In the end, Theon had only one question for the Maester.

"… What is it called?"

The old man smiles and says the name almost reverently. Given that it's from the Night King, Theon isn't surprised.

"Our God has named it as a trebuchet, my King."

Theon nods slowly, his eyes drifting to his son, still held in his arms. The boy sleeps soundly, an impressive feat given he and the Maester have barely held their tongues. Regardless, Theon points with his free hand to the next scroll.

"Continue."

As the Maester continued to show him weapons that would make close combat between men no longer necessary, Theon reminded himself over and over that in the end, this was needed. The North would thrive under his rule… once he'd conquered it.

-x-X-x-

In another timeline, the Andal Warlord Argos Sevenstar marked the end of the decades long invasion of the North. He would lose to Theon Stark and House Bolton at the Battle of the Weeping Water and then Theon Stark would sail across the narrow sea to the coast of Andalos with Argos' body displayed on the front of one of his ships. Theon would raid up and down the coast, burning many Andal villages. The Theon Stark of that time would be a harder man, tempered by years of constant war. He would put the heads of his victims on spikes along the coastline in order to deter future invaders.

In this timeline, a certain White Walker had fucked all that up. The Hungry Wolf had been fighting Andals on the North's eastern shore for a few months by the time Rickar showed up and in his haste to see history made, Rickar had sped things up dramatically. Now the Warlord Argos Sevenstar was arriving on Westeros' shore not to try and end an invasion that had been going on for too long, but as revenge for Theon Stark's hit and run raids.

There had been no spiked heads, no warnings. Theon was too young, too new to conflict to even think of such grisly warnings. Argos came with a fleet twice the size of the last one and a smile on his face as he imagined destroying the barbarians on the shore currently approaching before him. He would kill the men, burn the villages and their filthy godswoods, and he and his men would partake of their women.

The Seven had sent their Champion to Westeros and it was time for Argos to show this heathen scum the true might of his gods.

"Warlord!"

Argos' gaze moved to above his head as he looked up to the man with the sharpest eyes in the whole fleet. Given his stature, he was able to command that such a man be placed in HIS ship's eagle nest. The grimy looking man is waving down at him now, calling out to get his attention.

"Warlord they are waiting for us! They are on the beach waiting for us!"

Spinning around to face the beach, the Warlord peers as best he can, his eyesight far worse than the man at the top of his ship's mast. Yet he thinks he can see what the watcher is talking about. They're black little blurs from here, writhing about like a mass of barely discernable ants, but he can see them all the same. A wicked grin spreads across his face and he pulls his horn from his belt, blowing it before speaking in a booming tone.

"THE HEATHENS HAVE LINED THEMSELVES UP FOR A BIT OF TARGET PRACTICE! READY YOUR BOWS AND TEACH THEM A LESSON AS SOON AS WE'RE IN RANGE!"

His orders are relayed across the entire fleet and soon they're being followed by hundreds of eager archers. Their fleet grows ever closer to the shore, ever closer to the point where they'll be in range to loose their arrows. And then, out of nowhere a massive splash strikes the Warlord's ship as well as the one next to it. There's a moment of confusion as Argos tries to keep his balance, his boat rocking side to side.

"What the hell was tha-?!"

Before he can finish his sentence, the next massive rock strikes. The sight of this one isn't missed before it hits the water, mostly because it doesn't hit the water. Instead, it strikes the ship next to his and goes right through the wood like it isn't even there, leaving a massive hole through the deck.

"W-WARLORD! I-IT'S ROCKS SIR! R-ROCKS!"

Argos spins towards the man up in the eagle nest with a growl on his lips. His words die when he sees the wide-eyed man pointing behind him and Argos follows the finger to stare in horror as an entire rain of massive rocks flies through the air towards his fleet. They began to hit and ships began to sink… but the fleet continued to advance and Argos was able to calm his heart as he realized that several more of the rocks hit, than those that missed.

Then the second wave of boulders hit, and the third. And then the arrows arrived, far out past the range which his own archers could reliably land their shots. Argos spun this way and that as he lost men left and right, standing beside him and on the ships around him. The Warlord, horrified, does the only thing he can do as he sees ANOTHER volley of rocks flying through the air towards him.

He leaps overboard then and there, trusting his ability to swim far more than he trusts his ship to stay afloat.

-x-X-x-

Theon stares down at the man confirmed to be leading the fleet. They call him Warlord, but now he is just another water-logged prisoner, a gag in his mouth and his hands tied behind his back. The Stark King stands before him with an iron sword drawn, one of the first to be forged by Northern Blacksmiths.

"In another time and place, you could very well have been a great enemy, I'm sure. I could have wet my blade on you and your army, developed a desire for more bloodshed."

Theon stares down at said blade for a long moment, holding it aloft.

"Unfortunately for you, I do not have the time for such trivialities anymore. But, regardless of how he wins, a king should always be willing to swing his blade in defense of his people."

That said, the Hungry Wolf swings and Argos Sevenstar loses his head. The body flops to the ground as Theon turns and walks away. It takes him a few minutes to arrive at his next destination, but eventually he is there. His men are processing the prisoners. Those with useful skills and knowledge will have it wrung out of them. Those without are just more mouths to feed in a cold and unforgiving North.

Nearby, the Trebuchets are being deconstructed from transport. The men with bows as tall as they are, are making merry and reveling in their victory. And it is their victory. The two weapons that Theon was able to have made and ready in time for this 'war' were instrumental in his success. Finally, Theon comes to a stop before a group of unarmed Northerners that are NOT his men.

"My Lords. Before the battle, we discussed the notion of you kneeling to me as your new King. You were skeptical, to say the least, which is why I invited you to watch as I defended your shores… MY shores, in return for nothing. What say you now?"

The Lords, former bannermen of King Bolton one and all who had fallen to infighting when their King and his son had died, look between one another… and then kneel before the Wolf King. Theon stares at them for a long moment and then grunts.

"Rise. This is far from finished. The North faces threats on all sides and for my help in defeating the foreigners today, you lot will help me see the rest of them put down as well. Let's get to work."

-x-X-x-

The Andals' knowledge regarding iron-smithing and what not had reached the North a while ago, but as focused as I was on everything else, I hadn't noticed there was a problem until now. Essentially, the Free Folk didn't have access to much iron. Mostly because I may have already mined most of it out from under them over the last thousands of years and filled back in the tunnels with dirt and rock to keep it all from collapsing beneath their feet.

… I hadn't JUST built castles for centuries straight after all. Plus, some of my castles and palaces and fortresses had needed precious metals to truly match the fantasy structures from my memories.

Still, once the problem came to my attention, I called the current King-Beyond-the-Wall over to my mountain. Yep, my mountain. It'd seemed appropriate. We were walking along a perfectly carved square corridor now, me a little exasperated by his inability to get two words out, and him star struck to be in my very presence.

And of course, there's the curious little boy that's been following us for several minutes now, but he's just in my head so I've been ignoring him. I checked and looked through the King-Beyond-the-Wall's eyes. Couldn't see the little brat. The boy couldn't be older than four or five I figured, and he struck me as familiar for some reason. It didn't matter, I'd deal with the hallucination later. For now, I led the Free Folk man beside me up to a great big stone door and pulled a lever.

It took a while but eventually the mechanism did its work, the stone door slid open, and the man at my side's jaw dropped at the sight of what lay within. I'd had to do a lot of digging after all, to build my castles. The Land of Always Winter was literally peppered with structures and while some of them had wood incorporated into them, the majority were made of stone.

I'd treated it like Minecraft and when I'd played Minecraft, I'd done two things. Build and hoard. This was the effect of the latter. I'd long since hollowed out the entire mountain from top to bottom to fill it with this treasure. It was all organized too by yours truly on particularly lazy nights, through puppeted original White Walkers and wights.

Gold, iron, silver, copper to name the most common ones. And then of course there were the gems, the whole array of beautiful colors from across the endless icy wasteland that I'd dug up. Nudging the shell-shocked King-Beyond-the-Wall, I point towards the section filled with unprocessed iron ore, the largest section of all in truth.

"Think that should be enough?"

His eyes bulge out of his sockets and I relish the moment… but the boy is still there, still staring, and he's kind of ruining it for me.

"Right. Along with you then. Go tell the one in charge of the iron section how much you need and the shipment will be delivered promptly. Obviously, this is a secret. Tell anyone about my mountain and I'll be very upset. Now get."

I'm a bit short with the Free Folk man, I know, but I really just want him to move along, which to be fair, he does. Once he's gone, I turn to the familiar little boy.

"Alright, who are you?"

The boy's eyes whip to meet mine and he shirks back, suddenly terrified. I realize in an instant that this hallucination is not some ancient powerful evil masked as a child. This is literally a small boy. Maybe. Playing at one perhaps? I sigh and soften my face and tone as best as I can, being who and what I am.

"I apologize if I have frightened you. Let's start with something else. Do you know who I am?"

The boy shakes his head no. Well, that's interesting. So why is he following me then? I give him my kindest smile and place a palm on my chest.

"I am the Night King. I am the Winter Cold that you feel in your bones even now, as far beneath the ground as we are."

The young boy finally speaks, three simple words falling from his mouth as he stares wide eyed.

"Winter is coming…"

Oh dear, now I'm worried I know where the familiarity is coming from.

"That's exactly right my boy, though Winter isn't so bad, if you know how to treat with it. Come, take my hand and allow me to show you some of Winter's Gifts."

The boy's eyes flick towards the hollowed-out mountain before us. As I expect, he's taken in by the shinies. All children are… most adults are as well. His desire to see what I have to offer pushes past his fear. Despite my monstrous appearance telling him to be afraid of me, my jovial tone and smile seem to have put him at ease. He takes my hand, which I've held out to him and I pull him gently to my side. It's strange, he feels solid enough… but if he's who I think he is, I don't see how he got here.

As I show him around my hoard, it quickly becomes clear that he can't pick anything up. He can't interact with anything but the ground beneath his feet and me. My suspicions are becoming solidified and eventually I turn to the boy with a curious gaze.

"Can you tell me your name now young one?"

He's suddenly shy as he ducks his head away, but he nods and speaks, confirming what I'd already believed by this point.

"Brandon Stark, y-your Grace."

My mind races.

"Son of Theon Stark, King in the North I presume?"

Brandon looks at me, surprised. It's even further confirmation but then he nods, making it essentially fact.

"Y-Yes your Grace!"

"I know your father well young Brandon."

Though I hadn't bothered to learn his child's name yet. Really Theon? Brandon? So many damn Brandons in the Stark family line, I swear to god…

"You d-do?!"

I look to the small boy and smile easily, bobbing my head up and down.

"Indeed I do, just as I know all of my Chosen. He is very important to me Brandon, and as his son, you are too."

A sudden thought occurs to me, even as he processes this in wide eyed wonder.

"… Brandon, why do you think you are here?"

His reply is immediate.

"I'm dreaming, your Grace."

I raise my brow at that, impressed by his quick wit. This boy will grow to be an intelligent King, once his father is gone. But this whole thing with him somehow finding me through a dream… it reminds me of someone. And I know what Brandon Stark is, though I have absolutely no idea how the hell he managed to get here to me through just a dream.

How powerful is this boy? I want him. I want to own him. I'm pretty sure that makes me evil, but I can't help myself.

"… Would you like to take a gift back with you when the dream ends, Brandon Stark?"

The boy looks excited for a moment and then crest-fallen.

"I would your Grace, but I cannot touch anything here but you."

I grin almost ferally.

"I am all we need. Please, show me your arm and I will give you the same gift that I gave your father and your aunt. You'd like to be like them, wouldn't you?"

Brandon nods rapidly and quickly pulls back his sleeve, exposing his small arm and pale skin. I reach down carefully and try to make this as painless as possible, expecting it to sever the connection I currently have with the young greenseer, even as I form a new one. My palm closes around the young Stark's arm and then I push my mark onto him.

He cries out and a moment later, he's gone.

-x-X-x-

Brandon shouts and hollers as he wakes up in front of the heart tree. He'd fallen asleep slumped forward on his knees beside Auntie Lyanna as she prayed. When he awakens and pulls her from her inner thoughts, she turns to him with a worried look on her face. But the pain is already fading and Brandon's shouts of agony turn to shouts of joy.

"Auntie Lyanna! Auntie Lyanna! I saw a God!"

The Stark woman stares at her young nephew in shock. But before she can ask him what he means by that, Brandon is tearing back his sleeve to stare in awe at what lays upon his arm. When Lyanna sees it, she screams in horror, startling the poor boy badly.

-x-X-x-

Theon arrives back in Winterfell as a hero at the head of his barely touched army. Lyanna is waiting for him at the gates with a pale look on her face.

"It's Brandon."

That's all he gets and Theon quickly abandons the long caravan of men stretching behind him in favor of rushing to his son's room. He bursts through the door and finds his son alone with the Maester. The old man is showing Brandon the blue handprint on his arm, holding it up to Brandon's own, much smaller arm… where an identical glowing blue handprint sits.

Theon distantly hears Lyanna choke back a sob at the sight behind him, even as he takes a step forward, alerting both Brandon and the Maester to his presence.

"Ah, my King, it's good that you're here!"

"Father, look! I have been marked by God, the Maester says so! The Night King said I'll be just like you and Auntie Lyanna now!"

"Yes, Lady Lyanna had a bit of a negative reaction to seeing the young prince's new marking. Perhaps if you were to show him your own, it would put him more at ease."

His son doesn't look like he needs to be put at ease. Regardless of Lyanna's reaction, Brandon looks ecstatic to have joined them in servitude. As such, Theon does not immediately move to expose his arm. Instead, he asks the obvious.

"How is this possible?"

It's not the Maester or Brandon or Lyanna who answer him though. No, instead it's the Night King himself, in Theon's head.

 _Your son is the most gifted greenseer I've ever met, Theon Stark. He is more than likely a warg as well. He came to me in a Dream. How could I not gift him my blessing? It seems it is destiny that your family serve me._

Theon barks out a laugh in response that probably makes him look mad. His son and his sister and the Maester are certainly giving him odd looks.

 _Do not fret Theon Stark, for I am a generous God. I will protect your family for so long as it continues to serve me. You have my word. Now please, show your mark to your son. Assuage his fears. Raise him to be as strong and as cunning and as resourceful as you are. Don't do this for me. Do this for him. Do it for the North._

In the end, what option does Theon have? Plastering a fake smile on his face, the King in the North obeys the commands of the monster in his head, exposing his arm to Brandon, to the boy's innocent delight and the Maester's quiet approval. As for his sister… Lyanna ends up sitting beside her nephew as well, her own marking exposed. Theon doesn't know whether she got the same message as him or not, but in the end, all that matters is she follows his lead. For the sake of their house and the North, he needs her to follow his lead.

Else, all may be lost.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: I like to imagine this Brandon Stark existed as Theon Stark's firstborn son in canon as well. Possibly the strongest greenseer ever, he ended up before the Night King in a dream as well. Canon Night King wasn't so gentle or nice and Brandon Stark became insane. His younger brother ultimately had to be made the heir and Brandon the Mad never made it into the histories.**

 **Poor Lyanna though, like for real that woman can't catch a break.**

 **Anyways, just having fun~ Hope you all enjoy!**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: So I kind of lied by omission in last chapter's Author's Note. Sorry for that. Originally, I typed up "Writing this was like pulling teeth" and then I erased it because I didn't want to complain.**

 **After a couple days of reflection, I realize that I have to stick to what I said early on. I'm only writing this as long as it makes me happy to do so, and its no longer managing that.**

 **This is the last chapter of this fic for the foreseeable future, though probably forever (I don't usually come back to old fics unfortunately and its best I acknowledge so no one gets their hopes up)**

 **I wanted to write at least this to sort of tie things off a bit better though. Hope you guys enjoy.**

 **-x-X-x-**

"You're going to take the Three Sisters, aren't you?"

Theon looks up from the table where maps and schematics and plans are strewn every which way. His sister has a determined look on her face that he knows well.

"Aye, I'm going to take the sisters. Apparently, it's prophesized. But more than that, we need those islands to defend against the Andals in the Vale. The Neck will continue to be a natural bit of defense against any major ground assault, but those foreign bastards have shown time and time again that they aren't against sending fleets at us from every which way. Controlling the Three Sisters cuts off one way at least."

Lyanna nods slowly as she approaches the table and studies the maps beneath Theon's hands. Theon in turn studies his sister. The woman has never quite recovered from her experiences beyond the Wall, but then Theon doesn't truly think he has either. Still, his sister is strong. Even after everything, she holds her head higher than he'd expect.

"… Send me instead. Allow me to take and administrate the Three Sisters in your name, so that you can focus on the unification project."

Theon is taken aback by the very idea.

"Lyanna, I…"

"I know everything you're going to say Theon. The men of Winterfell respect me and will follow my orders. Our enemies probably won't, but they'll learn to respect the weapons that the Night King has gifted us. I'll turn their islands to rubble if I have to, but I imagine with the army you intended to use, I won't need to. Give me this brother. A task… I need a task."

Theon presses his lips tightly together, his objections dying in his throat as Lyanna shows him some of the naked vulnerability lying beneath the strength that he'd just moments before been admiring. She hasn't married yet, his sister. He knows that she doesn't want to marry… ever. He respects that, he won't have her used as a pawn in some Northern Lord's game, nor will he use her as a pawn in his own games.

To be fair, thanks to the weapons she speaks of, he doesn't need marriage alliances. Half the North has rushed to join with Winterfell in the wake of what those in the old Bolton lands saw him do to the latest Andal Fleet. The other half are cowering in their keeps, believing that if they simply stay out of sight, they'll also stay out of mind. He's content to allow them that foolishness, for now.

She's right though as well. The men of Winterfell respect her and while the petty Kings on the Three Sisters will not, they'll learn to or they'll die, one and all. Either way, Theon has every faith that Lyanna could take the islands at the head of an army of Northmen. And she's also right that the splitting of their attention would allow him to focus on conquering more of the North, be it through force of arms or diplomacy, much faster.

Their positions can't be reversed either. If he sends Lyanna to the Northern Lords still unpledged, they will see her as a bargaining piece to be wed. They will not take her seriously in matters of diplomacy like they will him. The sistermen on their little islands will not see a woman to be married, they will see a she wolf, hungry for their blood.

"… Yes. Yes, I will send you to the Three Sisters at the head of an army. I imagine you will take them easily and administrate them fairly my dear sister."

Lyanna slumps in relief. More relief than Theon was expecting, if he's being honest. A moment later, the door slams open and Brandon runs in with… is that a dire wolf pup in his arms?!

"Father! Father! Look! Look at what the Night King sent me!"

Theon's eyes bulge out of his skull as Brandon thrusts the pup towards him and it lazily licks its chops, already filled with fairly sharp teeth. Then his gaze snaps too Lyanna, but he barely catches a glimpse of her eyes before she's slipped out the door. The message is clear… his sister will no longer deal with his son's devotion of the White Walkers. Damn woman could have just said that though, rather than commandeer his entire army just to get away from it all.

Plastering a smile on his face, Theon carefully takes the pup from Brandon's arms.

"You will have to care for it Brandon, I hope you know that."

Brandon nods up and down, wide eyed. Theon opens his mouth to say something more and that's when the dire wolf pup begins to pee on him. As his son breaks out into uproarious childish laughter, whatever Theon was going to say turns into a long, drawn out sigh.

-x-X-x-

Lyanna succeeded in taking the Three Sisters and bending them to her will. It required several dead Kings, quite a few dead Lords, and many demolished keeps as well as a small, standing Northern army to keep the islands in line, but in the end his sister had had her administration as she'd wanted. The woman was as far south as she could reasonably get, and the Night King had even told Theon he would respect Lyanna's wishes and not bother her too much.

Of course, she was still surrounded by Chosen, they were just subtler on the Night King's orders. It was surprisingly kind, coming from a monster. Theon had been reluctantly grateful and just a bit envious that he couldn't get the same damn treatment. Now, over a decade later, Theon sat on horseback and stared down from a grassy cliff at the ocean below. Behind him was his army, swelled to quite a large size given his 'unification project' as Lyanna had called it so long ago was now complete.

That did not mean all of the threats to House Stark were gone though. Here was the last one prophesized by the Night King. A fleet of Ironborn ships were moving towards the North's western coast, led by the fucking King of the Iron Islands himself, Harrag Hoare. Theon was ready for him though, as ready as he possibly could be. The trebuchets and a dozen other siege weapons aside were loaded and ready to fire. The longbowmen, men who had spent their entire life learning how to use the massive recurve bow that the Night King had given them, had their arrows notched and were ready to loose.

Theon was about to give the order, when his son suddenly spoke up from his side.

"Father wait."

The Hungry Wolf pauses as he turns to his son. Brandon Stark is now six and ten. When the boy had asked to ride with him into battle, Theon had had no cause to say no. After all, HE'D been six and ten when his father had died and left him King in the North. Plus, Brandon was well-known and well-liked among the North, and his dire wolf bolstered the men's spirits. Even now, the boy was riding on the massive creature's back.

… When he'd named it Rickar, Theon had wanted to strangle him. Or more accurately, he'd wanted to strangle the Night King for jokingly suggesting it, as Brandon told him was the case. In the end though, it was what it was. The dire wolf's name was not changed and Theon did no strangling. He'd be damned if he called the massive hulking beast by name though. Luckily, it stayed close to Brandon and Brandon in turn kept it under control.

"Yes? What is it?"

Brandon stares out at the ships for a long moment in silence and then licks his lips to wet them before speaking.

"The Ironborn will not be so easily turned aside by conventional weapons like the Andals were. They'll come back and they'll attempt to adapt to whatever we throw at them today."

Theon is in agreement with his boy, though he does not say so. The Andals are not natural born sailors. From what he's heard, they only came across the sea on the whims of their seven gods and nothing else. They're mostly warriors and knights and Lords and Kings, just like the North is. The Ironborn are different. They're a fucking scourge on the seas, raiders and reavers of coastal villages. They will not invade the North, they'll simply draw blood from it if they're allowed to continue, conquering the coast and using their superiority at sea to hold it.

Still…

"What would you have me do instead boy? They may not be turned aside easily, but they WILL be turned aside."

"Allow me father. Allow me to end this threat for you."

Theon is apprehensive now. He's ashamed to admit that he does not know the full breadth of what his son is capable of. The Night King favors the boy and Theon is terrified of that. He's allowed it to keep him from truly digging into what Brandon has learned at the hands of the White Walker's Chosen and the White Walker himself.

And yet, he has no reason to deny Brandon this. What little magic the boy has shown, the North has accepted and embraced with open arms. Their Sorcerer Prince they call him, a name Theon is confident was started by the Night King through one of his Chosen. Flaring his nostrils in an explosive exhale of breath, Theon nods.

"Fine. Do it."

Brandon gives him a wide joyous smile, tinged with just a hint of something dark. Theon lifts a hand up, a silent order for his army to hold for the moment. At the same time, his son focuses on the approaching Ironborn Fleet. His dire wolf pads forward a few steps to the very edge of the cliff and Brandon's arms raise, high above his head.

His fingers slowly curl inwards in a clawing motion and a moment later, he lets out a roar as he rakes them down. The effect is immediate. Massive gouts of glowing blue fire erupt on the Ironborn ships in the trajectory of Brandon's invisible 'strike'. The boy turns slightly, lifts his arms again, and tears down with another loud angry cry.

Theon Stark and his army watch in silence as section after section of the Ironborn Fleet is set ablaze. They try to put out the blue flames, but from what Theon can see, it is impossible. The blaze only grows higher and brighter on each ship, until they begin to break apart and sink. The Ironborn panic and jump from their burning vessels, swimming towards shore, towards what they see as safety.

Theon is moments from ordering the longbowmen to begin picking them off when Brandon once again uses his magic, this time raking his arms to the side. The blue fire erupts a foot out from the beach, across the water itself. Now that Theon is looking for it, he can see that the flames do not go out even when they touch the salt water beneath the ships they're burning. The Ironborn Fleet sinks and the Ironborn themselves drown amidst pillars of unnatural, magical fire.

What is left behind is an ocean peppered with funeral pyres to the dead, a plume of blue flame over each sunken ship, the only mark that they were ever there to begin with.

"… Brandon…"

His boy turns to him with a wild smile and a glint of something unsettling in his eyes.

"I sent them to their Drowned God father. I thought they would like that best, in the end."

"… How long will those flames burn?"

Brandon blinks at the question before looking back at his work for a moment. He reaches out and Theon sees as one section of the blue fire winks out. Brandon turns back to him with an even wider grin.

"As long as you wish them to father. I am at your command, my King."

Theon understands the underlying message, even if Brandon doesn't realize he's saying it. In the end, the flames will last as long as Brandon wishes them to. What can Theon do in this situation? Only what he's been doing for nearly two decades now, in the end. He plasters a smile on his face, well-practiced by this point, and nods towards his son.

"You did well Brandon. You did well."

His powerful, powerful boy just beams at him, even as those closest to him start up a cheer for the Sorcerer Prince, now that they know what their King's reaction is.

Theon lets a sigh escape his lips only once Brandon is amongst the men and the festivities are starting. This is it, he can only hope. The Hungry Wolf is not hungry anymore. With the Andals defeated, the Three Sister's conquered, the North unified under Stark rule and the Ironborn sent to join their god… Theon only wishes that it be over.

He no longer wishes to die with a sword in hand. He'll settle for in bed, surrounded by family.

-x-X-x-

Theon had died today. Lyanna a few years earlier. Brandon was beside himself with grief, and I did my best to console the boy in my role as his God. In the end though, I was a little relieved. The North was changing and elements of its past in the form of people like Theon and Lyanna were beginning to die off. I was taking control, albeit from the shadows. Still, already there was a bit of a movement that had grown and blossomed thanks to my control over Theon Stark.

More and more of the North no longer worshipped the Old Gods. They still knelt at the heart trees and prayed in their godswoods, but instead of worshipping the 'Old Gods of the Forest', they now worshipped the 'Old One'. Me. Singular. In a way, Rickar's little effort to make me out as some Old God taking revenge on the Children for killing my brethren, their gods… had become the truth.

I'd gotten over it. Old One was probably on par with Night King in the end. It was fine. Just… fine.

The doors suddenly bang open and my children, more specifically the triplets, scramble inside despite being men fully grown by this point. I stare at them with mild bemusement as they stumble over each other in an effort to get to me first, which ultimately results in them at a pile at my feet, rough housing and play fighting, as usual.

… They've forgotten that I'm in the room again haven't they? I clear my throat and the three White Walkers freeze up, one in the process of pulling on the side of another's mouth, one pulling at his brother's white hair, and one pushing a foot into the third's face. I let out a slow sigh as they get to their feet and smile at me happily.

"Father! Rickar, Ayla, and mother have all agreed to a game of Risk! Please, won't you join us?"

That didn't sound half bad actually, but I could never sound too eager. I pretend to think it over for a long moment.

"Please father! Please, please, please! You know you make it the most fun!"

I introduced the triplets and the rest of the family to board games like this one in order to keep them in the True North, if I was being honest. Keep them busy for thousands upon thousands of years… yeah that'd probably work out. Still, for the time being they were certainly enamored with Risk and I had a dozen other games to bring to the 'table' once they tired of it.

"… Very well, let's be off."

The Triplets cheer and we make our way out of the room, down the hall, and into a much larger room with a huge table in the center of it. There was an equally large map spread across the table and small little tokens meant to signify troops. Of course, the map was not of the Earth, but it was still vast and I'd split it up into plenty of territories. There just weren't large bodies of water. Almost every territory except for those on the edges, could be attacked from all sides. It made things a tad more difficult and a tad more interesting.

My Queen and my firstborn children await us. Torrand is at Ayla's side as he always is, staring down at the map with interest. He gets to spectate our little games, as Ayla becomes far too over powered when I let the fucking Gary Stu help her.

"Are we all ready to begin then?"

My words draw the attention of those already in the room and though Lyanna, Rickar, and Ayla try to hide their eagerness, whereas the Triplets do not, all six of my immediate family are quickly in their positions around the table. I refrain from chuckling at their expense. My wife and firstborns try to pretend they aren't as enamored with this game as the younger White Walkers, but I know that they are.

Taking my place at the head of the massive table, I let out a sigh, place my hands down on its edge, and let my glowing blue eyes drift shut. In a far, far corner of the Land of Always Winter, there is a massive icy wasteland that I have not quite filled with palaces and castles and towers. Oh, they certainly dot its landscape, but I specifically did not build rows upon rows of massive structures across this area of the Land of Always Winter.

After all, this is the playing field. Reaching out to the bonds I have with my family, I connect them to their troops. Even as the six of them begin to play the game on the table, they are in fact also playing the game with wights and undead snow bears and shadow cats and dire wolves. The animals serve as the fivers while the undead giants serve as the ten piecers in this mammoth, life-sized game of Risk.

The battles take a while to begin as the start of the game involves them spreading out from their corners of the map and taking territories and castles and towers and setting up defenses in the fortresses and outposts I've built for them. Every once in a while, I wipe the wasteland clean and build a new configuration. It doesn't take more than a day and it keeps things a little fresh.

Ah, the fighting is beginning to break out. As expected, the triplets have already broken the pregame truce they make every time and are now fighting amongst themselves like squabbling children. Meanwhile, Rickar and Ayla are teaming up against their mother. They don't always do this, sometimes Ayla teams up with Lyanna or Rickar does. It really depends on who's mad at who at any given time. Still, while Lyanna is probably the best player at this game besides yours truly, she's going to be hard pressed to handle an alliance between Rickar and Ayla this early on. Unless she can draw one of the triplets away from their conflict to help her, but despite their love for their mother, such a rescue isn't looking likely.

Yes, my dear Queen looks like she'll be the first to go out this gam-

 _If I were to win this, I would be most overjoyed. Why, I can think of several ways I would want to celebrate._

The message is sent solely to me and her mental tone comes across as quite innocent. I get it though, loud and clear. Lyanna would never ask me to help her win outright… but she's not above doing what it takes to win, especially in an unfair situation like the one our firstborns have created. I can't help myself. Even with six thousand years to burn through, even with everything that had happened so far… I'm still thinking with my dick.

I begin shifting things ever so slightly, a smile on my face. It will look like luck on her part, as luck is a key component to any game of Risk… but Lyanna is about to get very lucky indeed. Almost impossibly so. Ah, the things I do for love.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: Thank you for reading. =)**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: PLEASE READ! Oh man, this is going to tease people so badly...**

 **First of all, this is NOT me restarting this story. This is the last chapter of this story, FOR GOOD. If I ever did continue something connected to this, it would be a sequel!**

 **Second, sorry if I got anyone's hopes up... hope you enjoy the chapter at least :V**

 **-x-X-x-**

To say Aegon Targaryen was upset would be an understatement. He was beyond upset at this point, and judging by the tense form of his sister-wife Visenya's shoulders, she was too. Still, the Stark King had asked for parley and Aegon would not be seen as a dishonorable man. He could not be seen as one, if he intended to truly hold the Seven Kingdoms for his lifetime and the lifetimes of his children and their children to come.

Already, a grand Targaryen Dynasty was forming. Aegon knew he needed the Starks in the North to bend the knee if he was to ever control the vast, barely habitable region. His spies had told him that much at least, though they'd mentioned little else. Still… they had his sister. Aegon grits his teeth as he looks across the Trident to where the Stark host awaits he, his sister, and their army.

Rhaenys is there, beside the Stark King. Aegon can barely make her out, but her silver hair and purple eyes are a dead giveaway among all the dark hair and grey and black eyes that the Northmen sport. The North is where the First Men blood still reigns, where it flows the strongest compared to the southern half of Westeros, where the Andals conquered and raped and forged their Kingdoms atop the corpses of their predecessors.

Of course, was he not doing the same? Certainly, he'd not raped anymore… but he was certainly forging something great, from the remains of what had come before him.

Regardless of his wandering thoughts, the fact of the matter is, the Starks have Rhaenys and Meraxes. Aegon can see Rhaenys' dragon from across the river as well, bound to the ground and surrounded by Northmen in robes. Maesters? Whatever they're doing to Meraxes, Aegon is sure he will not be happy about it.

"They are certainly taking their time in sending the signal."

Visenya speaks from his side and Aegon grits his teeth as he nods in agreement.

"These bastards… if they betray us, I will burn the entire frozen North to the damn ground."

His elder sister-wife's hand comes down on his arm.

"I will be right alongside you, if that comes to pass… but let us hear what Rhaenys has to say for herself first. We still know not why she flew off with Meraxes as she did."

Aegon grimaces and nods in agreement.

"As you say, sister."

And then a glint of fire catches Aegon's attention. The torch is waved aloft, and then covered once, twice, three times. That is the signal, and to Aegon's satisfaction, the Stark Host moves back, leaving just the King in the North and his brother alongside Aegon's younger sister and her dragon.

"There it is. Let's go."

The terms for this parley were overly generous in the Targaryens' favor, which was half the reason Aegon was sure this was a trap. Still, if it is a trap, they're going to regret inviting both Aegon and Visenya to ride into the parley on dragon-back. Mounting Balerion as his sister-wife does the same with Vhagar, the two rise into the air along with their dragons, and make the short flight across the Trident to where the King in the North awaits them.

Neither Torrhen Stark or his brother Brandon Stark seem all that concerned as they are buffeted by the wind kicked up from the dragons' wings. They stay motionless and still, in contrast to Rhaenys who shifts from foot to foot almost guiltily as Aegon and Visenya come in for a landing. The future King of Westeros is pleased to see that his younger sister-wife is not visibly injured, nor is Rhaenys bound in any way that she can see.

It's a good start. When his eyes trace to Meraxes however, he does not find such good tidings. The dragon looks fine… except for the grave wounds in Meraxes' hind legs. The dragon is breathing steadily, but laid out in such a haphazard way that it looks as if it will never use those back legs again. Something has mangled them most severely.

Pressing his lips together hard enough to whiten them, Aegon Targaryen descends from Balerion's back and walks towards the Stark King with his sister at his side. Torrhen Stark and Brandon Stark both look apprehensive, yet at the same time remarkably calm given they are surrounded by three dragons, two healthy and one injured.

As Aegon comes to a stop about ten feet away from the Northmen, he focuses his attention on Rhaenys first, not caring if it is seen as an insult.

"Sister."

Rhaenys blushes and inclines her head gracefully, even as she bites her lower lip.

"Brother… sister."

Visenya's nostrils flare as she inhales noisily, but otherwise, the eldest of the three does not speak. Aegon smiles slightly.

"It is good to see you well, little sister. We'd feared the worst, Visenya and I both. Whatever possessed you to fly North alone, I do not know…"

Rhaenys blushes even harder and falls silent. Seeing that he's not going to get an answer from his sister-wife, Aegon finally turns his attention to Torrhen Stark, King in the North.

"Well? You called this meeting. What do you want?"

Torrhen Stark inclines his head, but when he does, it is more subservient than Rhaenys' own movement had been, to Aegon's surprise. The words that fall from the Stark King's lips shock him even more though.

"I wished to apologize in person, your grace. The unfortunate accident that saw your sister's dragon felled by our weapons was a mistake not to be repeated. The North has no quarrel with your family, nor your armies… nor even your cause."

That brings Aegon up short. Nonplussed, the silver haired man stares at the King in the North incredulously, parroting the other man's words back at him.

"Nor even my cause? You do know that my cause' is to conquer the Seven Kingdoms and all of Westeros, do you not?"

Torrhen pauses, and the nods a single time.

"Yes."

Aegon's brow furrows.

"And you understand that the North is one of those Seven Kingdoms, do you not?"

Another pause, another nod.

"Indeed, we are."

Aegon finds himself leaning to the side for a moment, to stare at Stark's massive army, still visible even from all the way to where Torrhen had it pull back. When he looks back to the King in the North, he is as incredulous as ever.

"Then explain to me how the North has no quarrel with me and I have no quarrel with it, when you bring your armies down to the Trident after tearing my sister and her dragon right out of the sky!"

Torrhen glances at Rhaenys and that draws Aegon's eyes to his sister-wife as well. To his surprise, it almost looks like Rhaenys is in support of the Stark King, giving him a very familiar look as she tilts her head towards Aegon. Torrhen lets out a sigh and scratches at his unruly hair.

"As I said, that was an accident. Queen Rhaenys has been afforded every courtesy that befits her station. She has not been our prisoner."

"It is as he says brother. The North has treated me well, and they have even tried their best to heal Meraxes' injuries."

Aegon grinds his teeth together.

"Injuries caused by them, no?!"

Rhaenys ducks her head at that, cowed by his tone. There's a moment of silence as Visenya puts a hand on his arm and calms him. Aegon flares his nostrils and looks back at the Stark King.

"And the army you have brought with you? Am I to believe you do not intend to fight?"

Torrhen Stark shakes his head in the negative.

"No, your grace. I have come to bend the knee and renounce my claim to the title of King in the North. I will be the last who bears it, and I will be the last to bear this crown."

And just like that, Torrhen Stark pulls the heavy crown from his head and hands it to his brother. Brandon Stark manages to make the thing disappear into his furs startlingly easily, but Aegon is more focused on the now crownless Stark in front of him to truly notice. This is not going at all how the Targaryen expected it to go. It feels far too good to be true and despite his good fortune, Aegon finds himself arguing against his own interests.

"You have an army four times our size! You have a weapon that can apparently rip a dragon from the sky! All that I have spoken to, all that have counselled me in these last few months have told me the North will be my most difficult challenge! And yet here you are, at the head of your army… to SURRENDER?!"

There's a slight smile on Torrhen Stark's face as he nods.

"It is as you say your grace."

"WHY?!"

"The Old One has spoken. He has declared you to be the King of both Andals and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

Aegon blinks dumbly at that. He has heard some vague tales of the Old Gods that the First Men worship, but nothing about a specific 'Old One'.

"Has he now? And where is this Old One, to speak so clearly to you about the future?"

Rather than grow angry at the vague accusatory tone Aegon has taken, Torrhen just smiles wider.

"He is all around us, your grace. He is in the very air your breath, he is the whispers on the cold northern winds. The North is his domain and the Starks have long been his shepherds. It is his decree that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Just as it is his decree that we give up our crown and bend the knee to Aegon Targaryen, First of his Name. Will you accept my surrender and my oath?"

Aegon just stares, mouth opening and closing a few times, but no words coming out. Visenya touches him on the arm once more and he does not respond. Finally, his elder sister-wife elbows him right in the ribs and Aegon chokes out a single word.

"Yes!"

Clearing his throat, the Targaryen composes himself and coughs into his fist.

"Ahem. I mean, yes. Yes, I will. Kneel Lord Stark, and swear yourself to me. I will allow you to continue to rule over these lands in MY name, as Lord Paramount of the North."

Torrhen Stark descends to one knee without complaint and in a bit of a daze, Aegon and he say the words, affirming the former King's fealty and loyalty. When the two parties, Starks and Targaryens finally part ways, Aegon is still a bit in a daze even as he gets back on Balerion and both Rhaenys and Visenya mount their own dragons, flying back across the Trident to their army. While Meraxes' leg injuries are grievous, the dragon is apparently recovered enough to fly, at the very least.

It is not until they are all back in their camp and more specifically back in Aegon's tent drinking wine, that the Targaryen King is finally able to rouse himself from the stupor Torrhen Stark put him in. Visenya is giving Rhaenys a dressing down when he speaks, but Aegon is not listening to what his elder sister-wife is saying. Instead, he focuses on Rhaenys and Rhaenys alone.

"Rhaenys, I would have answers."

The youngest of the three siblings swallows thickly and turns to face her brother and husband nervously.

"Of course, brother."

Grimacing, Aegon tries to figure out where to start. Well, when in doubt, start from the beginning right?"

"Why, sister? Why did you fly North alone? What took you that far away from us, from safety?"

Blushing in embarrassment and shame, Rhaenys looks at the floor.

"Curiosity, at first."

That gets a scoff from Visenya, but Aegon cuts off their older sister with a hand and allows Rhaenys to continue, his eyes burrowing into her skull as she refuses to meet them.

"I thought nothing of safety… after all, with Meraxes at my side, was I not as safe as I could be? That was my thinking anyways. I went North because I was curious… I'd heard a strange tale from a Maester at one of the fortresses we conquered, and I wanted to see what the North was like with my own two eyes. It is gorgeous brother, far more beautiful than I would expect a cold, frozen place to be. Towns and villages, sprawling larger than I'd ever seen dotted the landscape as I flew overhead on Meraxes."

Rhaenys stops and clears her throat, but by this point both of her siblings are listening intently as she continues.

"But I did not go North to see settlements… I wished to see this so-called Wall."

Both Aegon's and Visenya's eyes light up with understanding. They'd each heard of the Wall as well.

"It is truly as magnificent as both the Maester and the books said brother. It almost reaches the clouds, it is so tall. There are castles dotting both its base and its top, on either side of the wall, and there are countless men in black cloaks running to and fro. But then I wanted to see what was beyond such a massive structure. I wanted to see why the Wall had been built in the first place."

Aegon stiffens.

"The histories say it was the White Walkers that the Wall was built to keep out Rhaenys. Tell me you did not willfully seek out ice demons."

Rhaenys blushes deeper and glances away. After a moment, she speaks with a tremor in her voice.

"I-It does not matter! There was nothing beyond the Wall brother, I swear it to you! Nothing but wild First Men, savage in their activities. If the White Walkers did once exist for the Wall to hold back, they are gone from this world. Past the wildlings, as the North call them, is only ice and snow… cold and death."

Rhaenys shivers and Aegon accepts his sister-wife's words at face value. It is not easy for him to imagine a frozen wasteland, given he has no true frame of reference, but he has no desire to visit such a place either, and so he takes Rhaenys' word for it and moves on.

"So then, you went far, far North, found nothing, and eventually returned. I assume it was on your return trip that you were shot down?"

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Rhaenys starts, stops, and then starts again.

"I… yes brother. I grew over-confident in Meraxes' invincibility. On my initial trip, I steered clear of Winterfell and went straight to the Wall. On my way back down, I wished to see the North's capital. It is there that I learned just how powerful their weapons are."

Finally. Aegon leans forward, intrigued to hear what the Northmen had that felled a dragon. Rhaenys bites her lower lip and continues.

"Winterfell in particular has massive defenses. The ones that brought down Meraxes were strange in nature at first, but I believe I understand them now. Huge, barbed iron-headed bolts with strong metal chains attached to their base. They fired many up into the air towards me, but they only needed one to bring Meraxes and I down… in the end, three hit. The barbs dug into Meraxes' hind legs and the chains immediately begin to pull back. At first, Meraxes fought it… but then the second and third bolts struck, and the strength of the pull became too much."

Rhaenys pauses for another breath before continuing.

"When we finally landed, there were a hundred bowmen aiming their arrows at us, surrounding us in a circle. Fearing for my life as well as Meraxes', I surrendered, rather than ordering Meraxes to try and burn the lot of them. At first, the Northern King treated me as I expected. I was his prisoner, though I was given accommodations befitting my stature. And then, the next day everything changed…"

Aegon lifts an eyebrow and Visenya finally speaks.

"Well? Spit it out!"

Rhaenys flinches but nods bashfully and continues.

"H-His God spoke to him while I slept it seems. When daylight broke, my weapon and armor were returned to me and I was taken to see Meraxes, where the Maesters of Winterfell were already working to heal his back legs. Torrhen Stark himself declared his intention to bend the knee to you, and asked for my counsel on how best to do it. I can confirm that he did not come up with any sort of ruse on the way here to the Trident brother. He was planning to surrender his crown from that very moment back in Winterfell."

Pressing his lips tightly together, Aegon moves onto the next question on his mind.

"And the army he brought with him? Was that your counsel Rhaenys?"

His younger sister goes wide eyed and shakes her head.

"N-No brother!... That was the counsel of Brandon Stark. Torrhen's younger brother is a man hungry for conflict, but even he obeys their God, this… Old One that Torrhen spoke of. He was willing to surrender and bend the knee to you, but he convinced his brother that a show of force was still needed. What you saw out there was the full might of the North. Brandon… he also said that it was important for the bannermen who followed Torrhen to see him kneel before you in person, so that they know where their loyalties lie."

Aegon finds himself reeling at all this information Rhaenys has dumped on him. He doesn't truly know where to begin. In the end, he decides that simple is best.

"Rhaenys… tell me truthfully sister, should we be wary of the North?"

Immediately, the young woman shakes her head, her silver locks whipping back and forth.

"No brother, I do not believe so. Torrhen Stark is an honorable man and the North is loyal to him, from what I was able to see. They assembled faster than I would have ever expected, and he hid nothing from them, making his attentions to bend the knee clear from the very first letter he sent out. I do not think we need to fear the North Aegon. So long as we treat them with honor, they will be our greatest allies."

Rhaenys sounds uncharacteristically confident as she speaks, and despite it being his younger sister-wife who's saying it, despite it being the one who's prone to flights of fancy reassuring him… Aegon finds himself believing her. Still, he looks to Visenya all the same.

"What do you think?"

Visenya frowns severely, but eventually lets out a sigh.

"All Rhaenys has told me lines up with what I've heard from others. Torrhen Stark, by all accounts, is not the kind of man to break his oaths and he holds control of the North firmly in his fist. The Starks in Winterfell are very nearly worshipped by the Northmen. They will make for good servants, if we do not abuse them."

Letting out an explosive sigh, Aegon nods and reaches for more wine.

"Very well. If you are both in agreement on this, I will accept your counsel. The North is conquered, as unorthodox as the conquering was."

"With your leave brother, I would go check on Meraxes."

Aegon nods his head and tilts his wine glass towards Rhaenys. A moment later, she is gone and Visenya is approaching him with a familiar, hungry look in her eye. Aegon can't help but grin as his elder sister-wife begins to undo the clasps on her armor.

One would wonder, if either of the two Targaryen siblings would be so relaxed, if they knew what Rhaenys had truly found up north, beyond the Wall. One would wonder how they might react to seeing the glowing blue handprint on the Targaryen Queen's covered arm. Rhaenys grimaces as she rubs at the marking, feeling the presence of the Night King in the back of her mind even as she walks towards where Meraxes is being tended to.

For now, she has avoided joining her brother and sister in bed… how much longer though, before one of them catches sight of the blue handprint imprinted on her flesh?

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: For context, Rhaenys is obviously lying if the last two paragraphs don't make that clear. She went beyond the Wall and ran into the Night King, ending up marked just like Theon and Lyanna so many thousands of years before her. Torrhen did accidentally have her shot down on her return trip, only to find out she's one of the Night King's Chosen (just like him and pretty much all of the North's Lords).**

 **Then the Night King SI, because he's STILL trying to make something akin to canon show up, has Torrhen bend the knee to Aegon at the Trident, just like in canon. So the southern half of Westeros continues to be relatively the same, while the North half is just absolutely crazy at this point in terms of growth and population and shit.**

 **Anyways yeah. Hope everyone enjoyed this last peak into the world of "Winter Comes".**


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